


Lost Holidays

by Destinyawakened



Series: The In Between [2]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Dark Knight (2008)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 00:16:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 54,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3188603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destinyawakened/pseuds/Destinyawakened
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Gordon and Bruce are faced with a new serial killer in Gotham who murders on holidays. Things aren't going as planned anymore and the relationship between Jim and Bruce starts to take a toll. </p>
<p>**Please note, written back in 2008 before the release of 2012 The Dark Knight Rises, so Selina Kyle in this is an reworked to how I wanted her to be before she was ever cast.**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

 

**Wednesday, November 19th**

 

Winter in Gotham City. The blaze of white snow gracing the ground for the first time was enlightening, beautiful, maybe even peaceful. But the peace rarely lasted; desperate families struggled to get by, crime rates skyrocketed, and the jails filled with those who couldn't afford to keep warm and dry. Gordon found it difficult to keep his head straight this time of year, let alone keep the paperwork down, and still find time for the other duties he had to fulfill. It was Gotham's curse in Gordon's love for her; he did what he had to do for the city he'd sworn to protect.

 

First snowfalls meant Christmas was right around the corner.  _Christmas..._ he thought. Christmas use to be the one time a year he had off work, where he could spend a moment out of the chaos to enjoy time with his family, forget about Gotham –usually she obliged for that one day. Well, that was until he became commissioner; now he was the first called in for any major crime. He hoped this year was quiet, but that was a fleeting wish.

 

Barbara had agreed to bring the kids down on Christmas day, so they could pretend to be a happy family again, exchange gifts and enjoy the moment of a peaceful winter day. Of course, being divorced made the “happy” family part difficult. At least Bruce would be there. The billionaire insisted  on having Christmas at the manor since Gordon's new place was smaller than Bruce's walk-in closet. Gordon didn't argue; he knew the kids would enjoy running around the manor and destroying priceless valuables while Alfred chased after them in an attempt to get them to listen. 

 

Gordon chuckled to himself at the thought;  _ poor Alfred _ . He imagined that Alfred didn't mind children, that it gave him someone other than Bruce to take care of (not that Bruce couldn't take care of himself, but Alfred often did it anyway). Alfred had seemed a little lost since Gordon had started coming around more, looking as though he might be getting in the way and trying to busy himself with cleaning the same counters for the second – if not the third -- time. Gordon almost felt bad for the butler. Almost. After all, didn't he get along just fine those seven years Bruce had gone missing? What did he do then? He might ask him later. Hell, he might even find the means to ask Bruce about those seven years and exactly what he was doing during that time.

 

Gordon walked up the steps to his apartment building, the crunch of new snow under his shoes making him aware that he may need to buy new ones soon; the walk home had left his socks soaked and his toes numb. His car had died a few days earlier; he didn't mind though, he knew he could use the walk. The snow... well the snow was a surprise. He knew Bruce was going to give him hell when he found out about the car, but why bother a billionaire with petty little issues? He was getting it fixed anyway and he didn't need the charity he knew Bruce would offer.

 

He pushed open the door to the main hall way, stopped at the group of mailboxes, keyed the lock on his slot, pulled out his mail and headed up the two flights of stairs to his small, quaint apartment. He placed the mail on the table, pushed the button on his answering machine – something Bruce laughed at him for having; apparently if he had a cell phone he didn't need an answering machine. No messages; why _did_ he have an answering machine? He hated when Bruce was right, but he would never admit it.

 

Gordon sifted through the mail, tossing junk mail into the trash bin next to him, holding the bills to the side, and stopping at a gold foil envelope with black embossed lettering on it. He didn't have to look at the return address to know who this was from: Bruce Wayne. He already knew it was a party invite, Bruce had told him about it a few days prior; so why was he getting the invite if he already knew about it? Well, that was a dumb thought actually, because he knew what the younger man would tell him if he was there now “This makes it official. You can't refuse to go or say you forgot”.  _ Damn you Bruce Wayne _ . 

 

He opened the envelope, took out the letter, and looked over the pristine white glossy paper. Christmas Eve party, which meant lots of people, lots of booze, lots of food and a really late night. He couldn't get out of this one, he'd already refused the Thanksgiving Day extravaganza Bruce threw two days ago and the masquerade party he threw in October (that was before he knew the truth about Bruce Wayne and Batman). He hoped Alfred would have a good bottle of scotch on hand to save him his sanity.

 

Gordon glanced over at the window, new snow flurries starting to fall again. He expected to be called back into the office before the night was out. He was right, of course, but to his surprise, it wasn't concerning a crime at all; Carmine Falcone's son had just returned to Gotham city to visit his father in Arkham. Time to call Bruce to help run a little interference...

 

 

\-----------

**Thursday, November 20: Thanksgiving Day-**

 

Thanksgiving Day was lonely for Gordon. First one without the kids, even though he had tried to convince Barbara to bring them over for dinner. She said Christmas was going to be quite enough time in Gotham and that the kids didn't want to be near  _ that _ city any longer than they had to be. Gordon knew the kids never said that, it was all her talking, and it wasn't about the city, it was about him. Yes, she hated Gotham, probably more than anyone ever could, but she hated him more for putting the city before their marriage. It only made him wonder what she was going to think when she found out about Bruce; would she be angry, jealous, or both? Would she understand that both men want the same things for the city and that is why their relationship works? Would she see that Bruce ended up being everything she never was? Well, that was a bit harsh, maybe. She understood when they first married, but when Jimmy was born her priorities changed and kept changing when they has Susan. Gordon never understood what Barbara wanted from him; she couldn't just expect him to quit his job, his life –the whole reason he still lived in Gotham. He would give his kids anything and in doing that he wanted to give them a better life in the city he loved. Barbara took that from him, but somehow he was still blaming himself for everything.

 

Gordon sighed; this was not the way he wanted to spend his Thanksgiving, watching the official Wayne Foundation parade dedicated to the winter season with big balloons, bands, singing, dancing, and all around good cheer. Bruce had insisted that Gordon be the one in charge of the security, as he didn't trust anyone else, especially with Alberto Falcone suddenly back in town. They had questioned the young man best they could the night before, but he was so vague that all they got out of him was that he was just visiting his father, and he would be headed back to Italy soon. Gordon hardly trusted the man, but without reasonable cause for arrest, he had no way to detain him. Even then, Gordon was sure the man had one of the best lawyers. It would have been a complete waste of time. It was also the reason they decided not to tell the mayor yet; there was no point in worrying him over rumors.

 

So now, Gordon and Stephens were heading up security and keeping an eye out for any sign of mob activity. Gordon didn't know whether to be thankful there wasn't any, or just more suspicious. At first Stephens complained about having to work the sudden extra hours, but when Gordon told him Bruce was insisting, he jumped right on it. Gordon had a feeling maybe the detective was a bit afraid of the man since finding out Bruce was Batman. 

 

Stephens was bringing up the rear of the security team towards the end of the parade, and Gordon was watching the front, where all the floats went after they finished their run. So far everything had gone smoothly: no glitches, no fires, no rampages, no criminal activity... Gordon was getting worried about the latter. These events never went down without  _ something _ happening, even if that something was small. Gordon felt a little unnerved. 

 

“Stephens, how's your end holding?” he asked into his walkie-talkie.

 

“It's holding, Commish,” replied a steady voice, but Gordon could almost hear a bit of boredom lingering in the undertones. “It's quiet.”

 

“Yeah, here too. Maybe a little too quiet. Let me know if it changes,” Gordon said. He placed the walkie back at his hip, watching the last float of the parade slide by, which happened to be Santa Claus and, of course, Bruce Wayne. The Wayne Foundation insisted that Bruce stand up there with Santa since he was the head of the board for Wayne Corp. Gordon watched as Bruce waved at the crowd, big cheesy grin plastered on his face, wearing a nice gray suit, hair combed back and gelled; ever the dense playboy that Gordon knew was so false. He found he actually loathed the facade Bruce put on, but he knew later that day he would be able to see past the show and enjoy the whimsical musings of the real man behind the many masks. He found himself longing for it in that instant, needing it more than anything after the hours of watching a pointless parade pass him by rotting his brain away.

 

Bruce looked right at him then – as if knowing what Gordon was thinking – giving him a more sincere smile, a friendlier, intimate wave and a long, hard gaze that sent a shiver down Gordon's spine. That was the man he was attracted to; the man he was sure he had fallen in love with but was too weary and unsure to say it. He sighed as he started walking down the platform towards where the float had parked. Bruce was still standing up there talking to the Santa Claus and giving that chuckle associated with the playboy side of him. Gordon climbed up the float towards the two men.

 

“Security checked out, Mr. Wayne. No issues,” Gordon said. Bruce turned around, holding out his hand to Gordon, who took it for a quick hand shake and then let go.

 

“Great! I think it's a good sign for the coming Christmas season!” Bruce said, the big cheesy grin back on his face. He reached out, taking Bruce's arm and pulling him to the side where the Santa couldn't see them talk.

 

“I think you're over doing it,” Gordon whispered.

 

Bruce laughed. “Please. You should see me at board meetings. This is nothing.”

 

Gordon was about to open his mouth again when his walkie crackled. Bruce looked down at it and then back to Gordon, who plucked it off his belt. “Repeat, please?”

 

“We have a situation at the Christmas tree in Gotham Square.” It wasn't Stephens, it was another hired hand –a rent-a-cop.

 

“On my way.” Gordon said. He saw the look on Bruce's face; it was one that wished he could go too, but he'd have to do it as Batman and the vigilante wasn't a day person. “Later.” was all Gordon mumbled to him before jumping down the steps of the float and taking off down the street in a sprint towards Gotham Square, just blocks away. He slipped down paths of melting ice, able to catch his balance but desperately wishing he had bought those new shoes.

 

The Christmas tree that stood taller than many of the building around Gotham Square came into Gordon's sight as he rounded the last block, forcing himself to a stop. That's when he saw the ambulance and five police squad cars already blocking the street off. Gordon approached the scene, ducking under the yellow police tape. He could see Stephens talking with one of the other officers and shaking his head in obvious annoyance. Gordon walked in what felt like slow motion towards the tree, catching the sight of mangled body in green Christmas lights. Inching a little closer he could see that it was the DA appointed after Harvey Dent: Darin Martin.  _ Gotham City takes yet another life _ .

 

“We had to cut him down. He was tied to the tree with a string of lights,” said an officer beside Gordon. The man moved in a little closer and pointed to something on the ground that wasn't that obvious to see at first. “Left that tied to him, too. Fell off when we cut the lights.”

 

Gordon squatted down to see what it was, and without touching he could only guess it was a wishbone from a turkey. Why a wishbone? Stephens stepped up next to him and then knelt down with him. “Strangled to death.”

 

“Get what we can from the scene and log it before homicide gets here. Try to keep this as discreet as possible.” Gordon stood and turned to leave, but Stephens caught him by the arm.

 

“Does  _ he _ know?” 

 

“Not yet,” Gordon replied as he pulled his cellphone from his pocket. “But I have no doubt I'll be seeing him at the Mayor's office when I get there.” He gave the other man a wave and started off towards City Hall; it was only a few blocks away, he could manage to walk that far in his already wet, soggy socks and shoes. He pulled out his phone and sent a text to Bruce to meet him there.

 

The mayor insisted when something above “bank robbery” occurred, that they immediately talk to him about their “game plan”. Gordon thought it was a bit much, but for the sake of Bruce's identity and keeping him out of Arkham, he went along with it. He placed the phone back in his pocket, pulling his coat tighter around him, and caught a glimpse of a black Ferrari out of the corner of his eye, following him.

 

He could pretend not to notice and let Bruce follow him slowly all the way to City Hall, or he could acknowledge him and accept the ride he knew the younger man would offer. He didn't get a lot of alone time with Bruce these days so the few moments he would get with him would be nice. Gordon stopped, turned to face the car that was now pulling up next to him. The window rolled down and Bruce gave him small, worried smile.

 

“Don't you have a car, Commissioner?”

 

Gordon furrowed his eyebrows at Bruce, stepping up to the window; “I needed the exercise.”

 

“Exercise?” Bruce asked a little grin forming on his lips. “I know of much better ways of working out, Jim.”

 

Gordon rolled his eyes at the other man's attempt to flirt with him, pulling the driver side door open. “Move,” he said, giving Bruce, who was already unbuckling, a push. “My car broke down last week.”

 

Bruce laughed. “So you've been walking everywhere for a  _ week _ ?” He sounded stunned, as if Gordon was absolutely insane. Or maybe he was stunned because Gordon didn't ask to borrow the Bentley. 

 

“No! There is such a thing as public transportation, Bruce.” Gordon put the car into gear, surprised Bruce had so casually let him take the steering wheel... it was a step for Bruce; Gordon knew he had issues trusting people, and it meant quite a bit that he was able to trust Gordon.

 

Bruce had relaxed back into the passenger seat, letting the matter of Gordon's own car rest for now. “So, what's the news?” He folded his arms over his chest, laying his head against the window. Gordon was sure he was going to fall asleep on him.

 

Gordon pulled out into traffic, shifting gears; “Murder,” he mumbled, checking the mirrors, glancing at Bruce as the other man closed his eyes. “I'm not going to continue if you're just going to fall asleep.”

 

Bruce peeked his eyes open into small slits, giving Gordon a bit of an annoyed glare. “I'm listening. Murder. Go on.” Bruce waved a hand at him to keep going as he sat up in the seat and rubbed at drooping eyes.

 

“Victim was found strangled and tied to the tree with a string of Christmas lights,” Gordon said plainly, turning the steering wheel to maneuver around the corner, seeing City Hall coming up on his right. He pulled up to the red curb, putting the car in park but leaving it on. He glance over at Bruce, who was chewing on his lower lip and staring out the window, deep in thought. “Bruce?”

 

The younger man turned to Gordon, giving him a genuine little smile; “Sorry.” His face turned back to the serious, stony gaze he put on whenever they went to see the Mayor. “The silence of the city was too good to last for long.”

 

Gordon nodded and reached out to grasp Bruce's hand. “Nothing ever changes.” He squeezed Bruce's hand and then let go, opening the car door, stepping one leg out; “You know the drill.” He brought the other leg out and stood, closing the car door and watching Bruce slide into the driver's seat.

 

“See you in ten minutes,” Bruce said, gearing the car and speeding away down the street towards the public parking garage. This is how they arranged it; Gordon goes in first to meet with Mayor Garcia, ten to twenty minutes later Bruce would walk-in, flirt a little with the secretary, and she'd let him in to casually interrupt the conversation between the commissioner and the mayor. So far it's worked, and no one's caught on that Bruce was helping out the GCPD, or that he was Batman for that matter (the latter would be harder to figure).

 

Gordon jogged up the steps of the City Hall building; a man already at the door saw him coming and held it open for him, with a tip of his hat and a mumbled “Good afternoon, Commissioner.” Gordon walked past him with his own head nod, taking quick strides towards the elevator. He punched the 'up' button and waited, rocking back and forth on his heels, hands clutched in front of him. Finally the doors slid open with a  _ ding _ and he walked in, quickly hitting the button again. If there was one good thing about the mayor finding out Batman's secret identity, it was that he and Bruce always did most of the business talk, such as the budget cuts. It really was a load off Gordon's shoulder's not to have to worry about it. 

 

The elevator came to a stop at the top floor and Gordon strolled out, waving to the mayor's secretary, who looked as if she was expecting him; the televisions were already blaring the news. _ So much for being discreet, _ Gordon thought. He rapped on the door with his knuckle. It swung open and Garcia stood there, not looking too impressed, and Gordon sighed. Garcia stood out of the way and shifted his stance to let Gordon walk by.

 

“Commissioner Gordon,” Garcia said casually, closing the door behind them.

 

“Mayor,” Gordon replied. There was tension, obviously. The mayor hated surprises and hated even more to be lied to. He would expect nothing less from Gordon. “Shall I start or do you want me to wait for Mr. Wayne?”

 

“Start.”

 

“Stephens is still at the scene checking on it. We have a murder case. Strangulation by Christmas lights.”

 

“That's not a lot of information, Gordon.”

 

“There wasn't a lot at the scene of the crime.”

 

Garcia grasped his hands behind back, turned towards the large window over looking Gotham below. A knock at the door brought Garcia's attention back to Gordon as Bruce entered the room. He rushed forward with a hand out stretched for a firm handshake with the mayor. “Mr. Wayne,” Garcia started, “So glad you could make it.”

 

 


	2. Chapter Two

 

**Wednesday, December 24 – Christmas Eve**

 

 

Wayne Manor was dusted with a fresh blanket of snow covering the grounds and the huge decorated Christmas tree standing out in the front courtyard. Gordon stood, hands limply at his sides, staring at the magnificent size, breathing deeply through his nose to catch the fresh pine scent. It brought back memories from when the kids were much younger, before Barbara insisted on an artificial tree –she swore Susan had allergies to them, though Gordon suspected Barbara just didn't like the clean up involved. He couldn't wait until his kids saw the tree and how huge it was. _One more day,_ he thought, then he would see them again.

 

“You know, Commissioner, 'black tie' usually means that you wear a black tie. Or at least a nice suit.” A suave voice cooed from behind him. Gordon turned around, mouth still slightly gaped from staring at the tree in awe. Bruce was walking down the stairs that lead up to the manor entrance, hands in pockets, taking each step with sleek, panther like mobility. He wore a traditional black tuxedo, including bow tie, hair parted down the center, and a small grin across his lips.

 

“I don't own a tux,” Gordon stated. Bruce was just staring at him as if that weren't an excuse at all, and then began to open his mouth for what Gordon knew was going to a smart-ass retort. He held up his hand. “Don't want to hear it. I just came from work; you know how busy it's been since Thanksgiving.”

 

Bruce hopped down off the last step, taking a couple long strides towards Gordon's side. He looked him over, obviously not too impressed with Gordon's dingy work clothes. He hadn't been home in three days, wearing the same work suit, and it wasn't even a nice one at that. He knew the thoughts running through the playboy's head had something to do with wishing it wasn't so close to the party time so he could take Gordon shopping, and why didn't Gordon just risk being late and find something else to wear, and  _blah blah blah_ ... 

 

“Sorry if I embarrass you,” Gordon grumbled through a forced laugh, half kidding. He knew Bruce didn't  _really_ care one way or another, but with the look the younger man was giving him, he realized it might not have not been the right time to be so sarcastic.

 

Bruce bowed his head, looking at his feet, then brought his face up enough that Gordon just saw his eyes –dark, shadowy, far from the sparkle he'd seen just seconds before. “You don't embarrass me, Jim.” His voice was on the edge of rough, a little sad, but sincere.  _Good one, Jim..._ Why was it he always said the wrong things?

 

He shifted, wanting to reach out and touch the younger man's shoulder, but thought better of it considering the sudden change in the mood of the other man. “Bruce...”

 

But Bruce was already back into his playboy mode, guests were arriving in the driveway with their fancy cars and limousines. Bruce walked past Gordon with out another word, glance or gesture. It was going to be a long evening, and he knew a scotch was going to be in order sooner rather than later. It was after five, right? He glanced at his watch – a little after seven. Perfect time to start relaxing.

 

Gordon sighed, placing a foot on the first step of the stairs, looking back at Bruce, who was greeting his guests – half of them surprised he was actually there on time – with a big smile and bubbly talk. Gordon took his cue to make his way up the stairs and find a place to be unnoticed for a while. He walked up the steps; to the house, where Alfred stood at the front door, holding it open, waiting for the sudden onslaught of guests. 

 

“Commissioner Gordon,” Alfred said with a nod. Gordon nodded back, adding a little pat to the man's arm. Alfred looked slightly taken aback, but then smiled at Gordon as he slipped past him.

 

He walked slowly down the hall, observing all the paintings, poking his head into each room; he had not been to the manor before, as Bruce always insisted on meeting at the penthouse. The manor was huge, especially for one man and his butler, and it was no wonder to Gordon why Bruce preferred his other abode. Gordon walked past an open office, stepping inside. He took off his coat, tossing it on the back of the desk chair (aware he'd probably get grief from Alfred later).

 

Thousands of literary masterpieces lined the walls, many out of date prints, antiques even. Gordon hadn't read even a quarter of them, but he had heard of many. He was surprised Bruce would buy such an oddity of books; he didn't seem the type to sit and enjoy a good classic. Well, then again Bruce didn't look the type to go gallivanting around rooftops in Kevlar either. Gordon wanted to thumb through a couple books, take his mind off the party he was about to partake in, but decided he didn't want to risk tearing any pages or ruining the value.

 

Echoes of snobbish, sing-song voices radiated down the hall, a sign the party was starting. Gordon sighed heavily, checking himself in the mirror by the door quickly, fixing his hair the best he could manage. Presentable at least, if nothing else. He walked out of the office and headed towards the sounds of uppity society.

 

The hall was filled with gold and silver decorations, tables of food, waiters wandering around passing out glasses of champagne. Gordon walked in slowly, trying not to be noticed, but his attempt was mostly in vain. Many people stopped to gawk, giving him a careful glance with their fake, snooty smiles appearing on their obviously judging faces. A few came up to him to say hello and introduce themselves, most Gordon didn't know, but if he had to guess he would be sure a good portion of them were investors for the Wayne foundation. Gordon felt trapped in their conversations, like a disease that crept up on him and took over, feeling like he was going to suffocate if he didn't excuse himself.

 

Bruce, was of course, no where to be seen. Gordon saw Alfred, who gave him a nod; Gordon assumed that was to mean “Bruce is out on the town in a flying rodent suit, he'll be back in a bit”. Yeah, that sounded like Bruce; even on Christmas Eve he couldn't let a patrol go unheeded. Gordon was on his own now. He stepped across the party hall towards Alfred, who was serving glasses of champagne. He offered Gordon one who held his hand up, shaking his head.

 

“Stronger.”

 

Alfred smiled widely; “Ah, I know just what you need, sir.” He put the tray of crystal flutes down on a near by table and walked towards the kitchen, motioning for Gordon to follow. He did, falling in behind Alfred at the pantry, where the butler reached far behind all the other food items and pulled out a half bottle of twenty-year old scotch. Gordon gave an impressed smile.

 

“Master Wayne does not drink. However, I keep my own stash,” Alfred explained, finding a tumbler from the cabinets above the stove. He poured Gordon a half glass, tossing in some ice cubes from the bucket on the table.

 

“Thank you, Alfred,” Gordon said, taking a sip of the golden liquid, suddenly feeling as if everything might just be okay. Alfred waved him off, and he headed back out into the sea of swarming Gothamites.

 

A woman caught his arm – she was maybe in her early forties, blond, and far from quaint; she had over-done her make-up, her hair was ratted, and she was dressed in a formfitting, short dress she could hardly fit into. Gordon wanted to laugh, taking a sip of his drink to hide the smirk under his mustache.

 

“Commissioner Gordon,” the woman said, wrapping her hand around his bicep and making his skin crawl. “I hear the police department is working with the Batman. What's he like?”

 

Gordon groaned; what was it about women and Batman? Since they cleared his name and announced he was helping out here and there for the department, women suddenly flocked to him –much like they did to Bruce Wayne. He turned to the lady, removed her hand from his arm gently. “Oh, uh... he's swell,” Gordon quipped sarcastically, moving his eyes to somewhere else in the crowd, hoping to find  _someone_ he knew. The woman looked at him, a little annoyed, but Gordon was already moving across the room, taking another sip of his drink. 

 

He walked out of the banquet hall and into the living room where a tree stood in the corner, dressed in silver tinsel and white lights. The room was dark aside from the glow of the fire and twinkling lights. Gordon took a seat on the leather sofa near the fire, enjoying the semi-silence (he could still hear the tainted voices of society in the next room). He finished his drink, leaving the glass on the the side table next to him. He laid his head back, arms folded in front of him, sleep pulling desperately at his eye lids. It had been a long day; he'd just close his eyes for a moment and then head back to the party once he felt more up to it...

 

 

“Gordon.” Someone was shaking him. Gordon waved a hand at whoever was touching him, keeping his eyes closed, forgetting where he was. More shaking. “Jim.”

 

Gordon groaned, opening his eyes a little, seeing the blurry face of Bruce standing in front of him, looking more than a little annoyed. Gordon yawned, sitting up straight, blinking the sleep from his eyes, and straightening his glasses. How long had he been asleep? Long enough for the slight buzz he had from the scotch to wear off, leaving him a little dry-mouthed. He licked his lips, thinking about a glass of water and how good it sounded right about then. He looked up at Bruce.

 

“You are not much of a party guest, Gordon.”

 

“Give an old man a break,” Gordon started, but the look on Bruce's face showed he was growing more annoyed. “Alright, alright. I'm sorry.” He gave Bruce an apologetic smile, raising his hands in defense, but the playboy was not budging on his obviously sour mood. Gordon could hear the voices and laughter of the party, and a sinking feeling hit the pit of his stomach; he had secretly hoped that he had slept through the rest of Bruce's Christmas extravaganza.  _No such luck,_ he thought. 

 

He pushed up with his hands to stand, grabbing his glass from the table, Bruce's eyes watching him silently. He walked past the younger man towards the party banquet hall, feeling Bruce's eyes burn invisible holes into the back of his head. He didn't turn around though; he wasn't going to play into Bruce's mood and make matters worse. He'd give him time to get over it and stop brooding before he even attempted to talk to him. 

 

He walked into the banquet hall, heading past many of the guests who tried to speak with him, including the woman from earlier, and towards the kitchen. Alfred was refilling flutes with a few of the other hired waiters for the evening. He offered his glass to the butler, who grinned.

 

“I see Master Bruce found you, sir.” Alfred took the glass, filling it from the scotch bottle that had been left out on the counter, as if he  _knew_ Gordon would be back for more. Alfred handed the glass back to him, wiping the bottom of it with a hand towel he was carrying.

 

“Is he always this moody at parties?” Gordon asked, accepting the glass back.

 

“Christmas was Master Bruce's favorite time of the year when he was a boy,” Alfred said as he leaned in closer to Gordon, whispering, “before the incident.”

 

Incident, Gordon assumed, meant the murder of Bruce's parents; happier and more carefree times. He remembered that night well, kneeling in front of a boy who had the most hopeless, lost eyes he'd ever seen. Christmas was a time for families, something Bruce no longer had. At least it explained the attitude Bruce was giving him. Gordon sighed, toasting his glass to Alfred before exiting the kitchen.

 

Across the room Bruce was talking – big, fake grin plastered on his face – to Alberto Falcone. What was he doing here? What was Bruce trying to pull? Alberto had a young brunette attached to his arm, talking quietly with the billionaire. Bruce flicked his eyes to Gordon for a second, a look that said it was 'business as usual' _,_ or prodding the Italian for information on any “underground work” while seeming interested for Wayne Enterprises to be involved.  _If_ there was anything to be involved in at all. Leave it to Bruce Wayne to mix business with pleasure.

 

“Gordon. I see you found time in your busy schedule to make it to Mr. Wayne's Christmas party this year,” Garcia said beside him, eyes set on Bruce, who was laughing his jolly, not-so-wholehearted, belly laugh. Garcia shifted his gaze to Gordon, a look that said he was now seeing through Bruce's facade as well; amazing how once someone found out it wasn't so hard to see through the act.

 

“I wasn't really given a choice,” Gordon answered. It was true at least, Bruce wouldn't let him skip another party; he was always telling him relax a little, not that this was relaxing for him. If anything it set him more on edge.

 

Garcia let out a chuckle that died down as his wife left his side to go talk to a friend she saw across the room. He stepped closer to Gordon; “There's talk, Gordon. Talk that someone is trying to take back control of the mob.”

 

“We've been looking into it. So far, it's just rumors.” Hadn't he tried very hard to keep this away from the mayor's ears? They were just rumors after all, no proof. The mob hadn't made a move since the Joker fiasco over a year ago. It was the only good thing, Gordon thought; stripping the mob of almost everything was the only good thing to come of the Joker's reign of terror. And a mob without money was like a doctor with-out credentials – you wouldn't trust them.

 

“Be sure it stays that way,” Garcia said quietly. “And if it changes, take care of it as discreetly as possible.” He walked away, towards his wife, who was now talking to Bruce.

 

_Great_ , Gordon thought. With the cards out on the table now, he knew, just  _knew_ something was going to happen, if it wasn't already in the mix. He hoped Bruce had been able to weasel some information from Falcone.

 

\------

 

Gordon stood in the corner of the party hall, sipping on a third glass of scotch. It was now midnight, the last of the guests were leaving, and he was attempting to making himself scarce –unnoticeable – until they all had left. Bruce was ushering guests out to their cars and limousines, being the kind host that he was.

 

Foot steps up the hall brought Gordon's eyes to the doorway of the banquet hall, where Bruce was now standing, shadowed by the dimmed lights, hands in pockets and glaring at the older man. Gordon couldn't tell if Bruce was just being broody or if he was in fact still mad at him for earlier. Which-ever the case was, Gordon didn't want to spoil the time they had together; as it was, this was their one day alone in over a week. He downed the last of his drink and placed the glass on a buffet table, as he walked across the hall to where Bruce was standing. The younger man was being very, very stubborn this evening; Gordon saw it as a bit of a challenge.

 

He didn't dare say a word, since anything he said would likely upset the playboy more or be used against him later when the playing field wasn't fair. Gordon stopped just feet away from Bruce, watching the younger man's eyes as they stared right back at him. He was always amazed at how well Bruce could stare someone down, strip them with his eyes, and make them feel vulnerable. It was the stare that struck terror into hardened criminals, but Gordon had grown to love the passion behind it.

 

He took a few more steps towards Bruce, reaching out and slipping the bow tie from around the other man's neck. Gordon tossed the tie towards a table, aware of Bruce's eyes still on him. He grasped the lapel of the tuxedo jacket, pushing if off Bruce's shoulders, down his arms, until it was off completely. Gordon threw that on the table, too. He carefully fingered the first few buttons on Bruce's shirt, leaving the skin of his neck and clavicle naked. Gordon brushed his finger tips against the bare skin, watching as goosebumps appeared on Bruce's skin, a sigh escaping the younger man's lips, one that Gordon knew meant he was giving in – forgetting about the events of the evening now passed, giving in to Gordon.

 

Gordon leaned towards Bruce, kissing at the crease where his neck met his jaw, flicking his tongue against the small shadow of stubble. He slid his hands up Bruce's arms to his shoulders, pulling him in until they meshed together, almost seamlessly. He felt the tension in Bruce's body start to fade, his arms encircling Gordon tightly. Gordon kissed a trail to Bruce's ear, pulling away, gazing into his eyes. He felt Bruce's hands let go of him, making their way between them, carefully removing Gordon's tie, and pushing his suit jacket off him.

 

Bruce's gaze turned a little sad, apologetic, and he opened his mouth as if to say something, but Gordon shook his head; he didn't want to hear the words, it wasn't important now. He snaked his hand up Bruce's back, to his head, entangling his fingers in his thick brown hair, and hungrily catching Bruce's mouth with his own. Their tongues tangled in a twisted, sloppy tango, each trying to get the best of the other –a competition, as it always was, neither one backing down. Bruce pushed Gordon up against the wall, pinning his shoulders, trailing his tongue down the older man's neck, causing him to shiver in desire while the rest of him grew hot and aroused. Gordon tried to push up on Bruce, to take control of the situation, but Bruce had him trapped securely under him.

 

“Bruce...” Gordon groaned as the younger man rubbed his hips into Gordon's, needy and desperate. Bruce moved back a bit to look into Gordon's eyes, a gaze glossed over with lust and passion. Gordon didn't have to say anything, he knew Bruce was thinking the same thing; they needed to move their endeavors upstairs, before it got too out of control. Bruce moved in and kissed Gordon hard, biting at his bottom lip, and then pulled away.

 

“Master bedroom. Five minutes,” he growled.

 


	3. Chapter Three

 

**Thursday, December 25 – Christmas Day**

 

 

 

 

It always felt like a dream – the raw emotions, the escalating moments, twisted limbs wound tightly around each other, hands groping powerfully for dominance, knocking the other over the side of the bed, both taking the chance to get the upper hand, neither wanting to be submissive so the moment to gain control always turned into a game, a contest. Often they found themselves tangled up in sheets on the floor, wrestling for power, like two teenagers in a fist fight. The only time Gordon ever won, as Bruce obviously had a lot more all around body strength, was when he brought out the handcuffs. He tried to save those for serious situations only when Bruce was relentless and wouldn't allow him any authority. He didn't think Bruce minded, not much anyway. Someone had to tame the playboy, and if binding him was the only way, then Gordon didn't mind being the one to have to do it.

 

It wasn't often that he and Bruce had time alone; often their moments together were at crime scenes, meetings, or luncheons; but they were never alone long enough to convey their feelings to each other. Gordon, hardly the sentimental type, had trouble putting his exact feelings into words, let alone saying the word “love”, but that could have been because he wasn't really sure. And Bruce, well... Bruce had started out vocal about his feelings but had become more discreet in the last month. At least he was wasn't discreet physically, though Gordon wouldn't have minded a little reassuring conversation (and Gordon was far from the relationship conversationalist).

 

The sun gleamed through the sheer window curtains, making Gordon bring a hand up to cover his eyes. At least it was going to be a beautiful day for Christmas, even more so when his children arrived. He rolled over, wrapping the covers around him more tightly and curling himself around Bruce in a spooning position, melting into the younger man's body heat. It was surprisingly cold in the manor this morning, and he wondered if Alfred hadn't set the thermostat. He snuggled in a little closer to the warm body next to him. Bruce stirred, mumbling something about coffee and pulled a pillow over his head. Gordon chuckled under his breath, placing a hand on Bruce's bare hip, caressing softly.

 

“Why are you bugging me?” Bruce whined, voice muffled by the pillow. Gordon tried to suppress the smile that dared to play across his face. He lifted the pillow covering the younger man's head, tossing it over the side of the bed. Bruce moved his head to look at Gordon, eyes half closed in a groggy glare. “This is the last time I let you stay the night.”

 

“This is the _only_ time I've stayed the night,” Gordon said, moving over a little as Bruce turned on his back, rubbing at his eyes. “Trust me, I'd much rather sleep at home. At least there I won't be woken by loud, obnoxious snoring.”

 

Bruce looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed and a small frown forming on his lips. “I don't snore.” Gordon knew better than to buy into the mock-hurt expression anymore, shaking his head at the other man. He reached over Bruce to the nightstand, grabbing his glasses and placing them on the bridge of his nose. He went to roll over, to climb out of bed, when Bruce caught his arm, pulling him back. Bruce's eyes were soft, almost gleaming in the morning light.

 

“Sorry, about last night.” Bruce said softly; his expression had relaxed. He sat up against the headboard of the bed, glancing out at the snow covered grounds of Wayne Manor. “Christmas is --”

 

Gordon shook his head. “Bruce, you don't need to justify anything to me.” He gave the billionaire a reassuring smile. Usually he would let Bruce explain his brooding, spoiled-kid attitude, but since Alfred had pretty much explained the playboy's behavior the night before, he didn't feel that Bruce owed him any other explanations. Christmas was a time for families, sharing each others' company, and enjoying the time spent together. Who did Bruce have for a family now? He had Alfred, and two years back he most likely had Rachel. He understood Bruce's excitement in having his kids over for Christmas; there was an enjoyment there that he had probably not experienced in twenty years. Gordon thought it was almost endearing, finding himself hoping his kids would be on their best behavior.

 

Bruce leaned in towards Gordon and planted a quick kiss on his lips. “Thank you.” He looked away from Gordon for a moment, and then back at him again, his eyes a little more serious this time. “What did Garcia want last night?”

 

“He was worried about a possible mob uprising. Apparently, someone had tipped him off to all the rumors that had been swimming around the station,” Gordon said, stretching his arms, and trying to suppress a yawn.

 

Bruce eyed him carefully. “He has every reasonto worry.”

 

“You said there was no significant proof. Did Falcone say something to you last night to –” Bruce put a hand up to stop him from going any further.

 

“There is no proof. Falcone didn't give anything away. He's merely here to see his father, take care of his arrangements at Arkham and fly back to Italy as soon as possible. I'm still suspicious of him, though. The Falcone's are notorious for being sneaky liars.” Brush sighed with a shrug. “Our biggest problem right now is that no one who was once connected with the mob is talking. Even with _persuasion_.”

 

“So, either they're being bought off, which we already know is unlikely, or they don't even know what's going on.” Gordon took a deep breath; if the rumors were actually true, if Falcone's son had returned to Gotham to regroup the mob and take control, then the GCPD was in for some serious backlash after last year's take-down.

 

Bruce seemed to notice the worried look written on Gordon face; “I'm still looking into it. Right now, like you said, just rumors.”

 

“I know. I know,” Gordon said with a wave of his hand. “But we should still keep an eye on Falcone's son.”

 

Bruce nodded, seeming somewhat distracted, and glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand; it was close to ten in the morning, far later than Gordon ever slept. The conversation was dropped; it was Christmas after all, no time to be talking about work.

 

 

\------

 

Bruce had insisted that Gordon let him pick out and buy the Christmas gifts for his kids, which made Gordon wary at first, but Bruce had given him the sad puppy dog eyes and the argument that he bought toys for homeless and needy children every year around Christmas and knew what he was doing. Gordon trusted him, which may have been a mistake. Bruce had bought the kids at least three dozen presents a piece, with not Bruce's name attached to them, but Gordon's instead. This earned the commissioner many, many bitter scowls from his ex-wife.

 

Barbara kept mostly to herself, arms folded over her chest and ignoring Gordon whenever he attempted to talk to her. However, when Bruce attempted to talk to her she lightened up, talked to him about her job and her handsome new boss, every now and then throwing Gordon a glance to see what his reaction was. She was being far from delightful, but the kids didn't seem to notice, as they were busy asking their father questions about how to put things together. Jimmy even asked about Batman and if the rumors that he was helping the Gotham city Police Department were true. Gordon was all too happy to tell him that it was true. Jimmy even tried to convince his mother that Gotham City was much safer to live in now that Batman was “back to being the good guy”. Gordon had held his breath, secretly hoping that maybe his ex-wife would give into the boy's pleas; he was disappointed, but far from surprised, when she told him no.

 

The day bled on into the late afternoon without so much as a phone call from the MCU, and Gordon couldn't help but feel something was a little amiss; there was always something going on in Gotham, even on Christmas. He glanced over at his kids, who were having fun playing with all their new toys, then to Bruce, was charming his ex-wife with tales China. He moved his eyes to Alfred, who was sitting in the arm chair by the fire, sleeping. Gordon felt his cell phone began to vibrate in his pocket; there it was, the dread he was expecting. He quietly excused himself to the bathroom, taking the cell phone from his pocket.

 

He stepped into the bathroom, shut the door, and hit the accept key on the phone pad; “Gordon.”

 

“Sorry to bother you on Christmas, Commissioner, but we have a situation down on 3rd and Morris. Another murder,” Stephens said. Great, Gordon thought. Just what he needed to deal with on Christmas, especially with Barbara and the kids in town. This was not going to go over well with her and would possibly change her mind about ever bringing the kids to visit again.

 

Gordon sighed. “I'll meet you down there in about twenty minutes.” He checked his watch; it was only four in the afternoon. Batman would not be accompanying him, so he'd have to fill him in later. He closed his phone, walked out of the bathroom and back down the hall to the living room. Barbara looked up at him, then to the cell phone in his hands, shaking her head with a grim smile on her face. He didn't need her to talk, he already knew what she was thinking: _the kids will be disappointed,I can't believe you picked up your phone on Christmas, how could you...._

 

It was Bruce who stood first, walking over to Jim and ushering him into the other room, obviously not caring about what it looked like to Barbara. “What's going on?”

 

“Another murder.” Gordon stated turning his phone over and over in his hand. nervously. “I don't know how to tell the kids. Or Barbara for that matter.” He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, lifting his glasses up a little.

 

Bruce nodded, “Just tell your kids. I'm sure they'll understand. I'll take care of explaining the rest to Barbara.”

 

Gordon eyed him cautiously; “ _You're_ going to explain it to Barbara?”

 

“If you haven't noticed, _Commissioner_ , your ex-wife not immune to my charms,” Bruce quipped whimsically, giving him a mischievous grin. Gordon felt his lips curl into a disgusted frown and Bruce laughed at him. “Go talk to your kids and get out of here.”

 

\--------

 

Gordon arrived at the scene, a small community church with a nativity scene set out on the front lawn, skewed by the gleam of red and blue police lights. Camera crews already lined the streets, interviewing what Gordon could only assume were possible witnesses. He walked past the vans and trucks, hopping over the police line. Stephens walked up next to him, opening the door to the church for him and following him.

 

“Assistant District Attorney, Laurel Messing.” Stephens stated as they walked through the rows of pews. “She was found in the bathroom. Drowned to death.”

 

“Drowned?” Gordon asked as Stephens touched his shoulder to direct him down the correct hallway.

 

“In a toilet,” Stephens gave Gordon a knowing look, pushing open the door to the bathroom. The body of a young female lay askew next to the toilet bowl, head wet, hair plastered to her face. Gordon bent over the body, taking note of the bruising around the neck and on the wrists; there was no doubt that it was murder.

 

Stephens pointed out a small trinket on top of the toilet rim; a small Christmas tree ornament of a gold star. He looked up at Stephens; “I don't get it. Is the murderer trying to leave us clues? Or are these set here to throw us off?”

 

“I think the murderer only kills on holidays; that's why he leaves behind objects that are significant to the date,” a female voice said from behind Stephens. A woman stepped around him, into Gordon's full view; she was maybe a little shorter than himself, with long, curly black hair that cascaded down her shoulders, light green eyes, and olive skin. She stood over him, one hand on her hip and the other held out to him. “Selina Kyle. Your newest transfer.”  


	4. Chapter Four

 

**Thursday, December 25 -Christmas Day, Evening**

 

 

 

 

The street lamps had flickered on almost two hours ago, leaving Gordon to realize it had to be well past eight in the evening now. He had meant to go home, but the paper work for the recent murder case had piled up on his desk at MCU, and he didn't feel much like adding it to the pile of other paperwork still needing to be finished. He had called his children who had left Wayne Manor just half an hour after he did, thanking them for coming for Christmas. Barbara, of course, gave him an ear-full about his duties as a father being more important than his duties as commissioner – the usual. She also mentioned, vaguely, the relationship status between him and Bruce, and that she would talk to him more about it later, when the kids weren't around. That was one phone call he was hoping to ignore. He was curious now as to what exactly Bruce had said to her.

 

Gordon held his head in his hands, elbows on his desk, rubbing at his eyes with his fingers. Now there was the matter of this new transfer from New York that he had somehow failed to be informed of: Selina Kyle. He wasn't sure what to think of her yet, but apparently the mayor, of all people, had approved her transfer. Gordon peered over at his pile of paperwork, sure now that the memo was most likely lingering in the stack. He shook his head; he'd look through her file later. He knew enough from meeting her at the crime scene earlier to get a pretty good first impression; but then again, when had his first impressions been good ones? He'd have Bruce look into her, see if something curious showed up. He didn't need another corrupt cop running around Gotham.

 

A slight breeze blew past him. He flicked his eyes to the window that was now open. He was usually so good about sensing when Batman had sneaked into his office. A pair of gloved hands weighed suddenly heavy on his shoulder, thumbs rubbing into the back of his neck in a slow massage. He straightened, leaning back against the desk chair, into Batman's strong, kneading hands. He let out a deep, tired sigh. Batman stopped, the soft sound of skin coming unstuck from leather near his ear, and then the thud of the Kevlar gloves hitting the desk to his right. This time Bruce's hands came down on Gordon's shoulder, reaching around his neck, undoing the knot in his tie, loosening the buttons all the way down his shirt.

 

“You didn't come back. I had a Christmas gift for you,” Bruce whispered hoarsely into his ear.

 

Gordon felt his breath hitch as Bruce's hands played down his chest, the once-every-few buttons skin-to-skin contact toying with his hormones. He felt Bruce lean down to his shoulders, pulling his shirt away, breathing softly against his skin. He felt a slight pull at the side of his pants, followed by a small clank. Bruce pulled Gordon's hands behind his back, behind the chair, encircling his wrists with the cool metal. Gordon pulled on the cuffs, instinctively at first, and started to protest, when Bruce twirled him around in the chair to face him. He was wearing the Batsuit, minus the gloves, standing over him dauntingly. Bruce reached down and removed Gordon's glasses, placing a wet kiss on his lips as Gordon again tried to object. Handcuffs were after all _his_ device to control; it wasn't fair of Bruce to use them against him. The game was far from fair now, and secretly Gordon contemplated ways to level the field again.

 

“Bruce,” Gordon said coolly as the younger man reached above his head, unfastening clips, and removing the cowl. He shook out his brown hair, placing the cowl on the desk and kneeling down in front of Gordon. He looked up at Gordon, eyes darker than usual from the hue of the black makeup around the hollow of his eyes. Bruce slowly crawled up the commissioners body.

 

“Are you really going to fight me over this?” the vigilante asked in a gruff, rapturous growl. Gordon had never been the one on the receiving end of his own handcuffs, and had so far liked not having to be. But Bruce had the look of lust plastered on his face, a small devilish smile dancing across his lips; Gordon found himself shaking his head. Oh, he was definitely making calculations for payback. Bruce Wayne was not living this down.

 

\-----

 

Gordon slipped his tie back on, leaving it hanging around his neck, shirt half buttoned, pants still hanging over the chair; he'd get to them in a second. Bruce was perched on the side of his desk, watching him, wearing only his boxers now. Gordon looked around the room at the pieces of Kevlar-enforced armor scattered in various places. In the end, after Bruce unlocked the cuffs, Gordon had turned the tables quickly, and had his ravenous revenge on the playboy (even though getting the Batsuit off by himself was not as easy as Bruce always made it look).

 

There would usually have been worry that someone could walk in on them, but it was Christmas evening, and no one was around the offices. Gordon reached for his pants, noticing Bruce was watching his every move but keeping extremely silent. He pulled his pants on, zipped the fly, and started to tuck his shirt in, Bruce's eyes watching his every move intently.

 

“Tell me about the murder,” Bruce said, voice level. Gordon, who had been concentrated on putting himself back together, let his eyes flicker up to Bruce's. The other man was looking at him very contenedtly, hands in his lap, no real emotion showing on his face besides placidity.

 

“A drowning. Well, a forced drowning. Someone obviously did it to her.”

 

“Her?” Bruce asked. Gordon was surprised he hadn't heard on the news yet; then again, Bruce wasn't always one for a lot of television.

 

“Assistant DA, Laurel Messing,” Gordon replied. He waited for Bruce to say something, but the younger man just sat there, blank eyes staring at Gordon. “There was also a Christmas tree ornament left on the scene. Detective Kyle thinks this murder and the one from Thanksgiving are connected.”

 

Bruce's eyes lit up, a bit of confusion apparent on his face; “Detective Kyle?”

 

“Detective Selina Kyle. A transfer I apparently either forgot was coming, or wasn't told about.”

 

“Can you trust her?” Bruce asked.

 

Gordon smiled a little, “How can I possibly trust someone who makes a great first impression?” He was of course subtly hinting at his and Bruce's first encounter two years prior, in his office with a stapler; he hadn't had a very good impression of the masked man at first, but his first impression was always wrong. He was hoping that this time it was right.

 

“Did you want me to do a deeper investigation of her?” Bruce asked, sliding off the desk, standing in front of Gordon, their noses almost touching. Gordon breathed, barely, Bruce's strong hands moving to his shoulders, pulling him in closer to the billionaire. Gordon brought a hand up to Bruce's cheek, rubbing gently at the black streaks of paint.

 

“Let me read over her file first. See what I can get out of her before we go prodding anything further,” Gordon said. He placed a kiss on Bruce's lips softly, gently moving his hand up to Bruce's head, fingering various tufts of hair.

 

Bruce squeezed his shoulders, moaning softly against his mouth and then pulling away. “You're the boss,” he said lowly, licking at his lips as if savoring the taste of the other man that was still there. Gordon watched him; the gesture made him ache to repeat their actions of no more than ten minute earlier. If he didn't have paper work to finish, he was sure he could persuade Bruce into a rematch. Bruce smirked at him as if reading his thoughts. “Later. I don't want to spoil you.,” he chirped playfully.

 

Gordon pulled away from the younger man completely, picking up a couple of the Kevlar pieces and handing them to Bruce.“Don't you have patrolling to do?”

 

 

**Friday, December 26 – Day After Christmas**

 

 

 

Selina Kyle checked out clean. Nothing in her background check indicated she had ever run into trouble, let alone been arrested, and definitely nothing that would show connections to the mob (not that there would have been, with her being from New York). Gordon thought he might have Bruce do a more extensive check on her anyway, just to be sure. He knew the mayor was just trying to help, but they could never be too safe, not since the incident with Harvey Dent.

 

The meeting room was dark; Gordon had turned the lights off in an attempt to rid himself of the head-ache that was sure to turn into a migraine. He had finally gone home around eleven the night before, stumbled through the door at one AM, asleep by two and up again at six. His car had broken down on the way home, so he had to have it towed and then kindly ask the driver for a ride home. He was going to walk to work, but a fresh layer of snow had fallen over the city in the four hours he was a sleep. Thank God for Stephens, though now he was _sure_ Bruce was going to find out about his car breaking down again. He was never going to hear the end of it.

 

“Commissioner?”

 

Gordon raised his head from the paperwork in front of him. Selina Kyle stood in the door way hand about to touch the light switch; “ Come in, Detective Kyle. Don't turn that on, please..”

 

The woman's hand slipped away from the switch as she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. He gestured for her to sit. “I have some thoughts on the two murder cases. I was wondering if I could go over them with you.”

 

Gordon rubbed his forehead, hoping to rub the headache away, “You're supposed to bring all your concerns to Lt. Stephens first. He reports any and all findings directly to me.”

 

“I'm aware of that. The mayor told me you two and Batman have a 'Three Musketeers' group going, and you don't let anyone in on the big cases. Not directly.” She leaned in closer to him, whispering, “News flash, Commissioner: there ended up being a fourth Musketeer.”

 

Gordon stared at Selina in a bit of shock; he hadn't expected such an attitude from her. He wasn't sure he knew what to say to her, but obviously he had to tell her it wasn't going to happen, and she could just transfer back to New York right now if that was her plan.

 

“Wait, before you tell me no, you should be aware the mayor has already asked that I join the team,” Selina said, as if reading Gordon's thoughts, but he was sure his feelings of annoyance over this little fact were written on his face.

 

“I'll have to talk to the mayor about this myself, Detective.” And to Batman, he thought. There was no way Bruce was going to allow someone new to know his secret, let alone a new transfer from New York with a background too clean to be true.

 

“You'll be wasting your time,” Selina stated. Gordon already had his cell phone out, a text to Bruce first, then a phone call to the mayor's office; he was sure he'd get the mayor's voice mail, but to his surprise, he was let right through.

 

And sure enough, Selina was right; it was a waste of time. The same information she had given him was relayed to him from the mayor as well. Except the mayor did mention not telling her about Bruce's identity, but instead putting her on the night shift to work more closely with them. Gordon had a bad feeling, but what real choice did he have?

 

“Welcome to the team, Detective Kyle.” Gordon offered her his hand as he clicked his phone shut. She just smirked at him knowingly, reveling her in triumph. Now more than ever Gordon needed Bruce to do the even more extensive background check (no matter how illegal it was). “Your shift starts at eleven PM.”

 

Gordon had expected a protest from the woman, or even a look of surprise, but he found himself disappointed when she smiled brightly. “Perfect,” she cooed. “I assume I'll be meeting with Batman then?”

 

“We'll see,” was all Gordon could think to answer with. He was sure Batman would be out tonight; he was out nearly every night. Selina's smile faded a little as she walked out of the room without another word. Gordon could tell they were not going to have an easy partnership. When was anything easy in Gotham City? _Never,_ he thought.

 

Gordon felt his phone vibrate –a text from Bruce saying he was on his way over. Gordon checked his watch. It was only ten in the morning, Bruce was barely up by nine most days; what was he doing up so early? He looked down at the rest of his paperwork, thinking he might be able to get a few pages done before Bruce arrived, which would most likely be in five minutes or less, maybe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter Five

 

**Friday, December 26 – Day After Christmas**

 

 

 

Gordon dropped his pen on the table atop the finished paperwork, aware that it had been more than thirty minutes since he received Bruce's text message about being on his way. It was not like the billionaire to be so late (except to parties, and even then there were good reasons). Gordon piled the paperwork into a folder, scooped it up, and walked out of the meeting room. He was beginning to worry, not that he needed to; Bruce was more than capable of taking care of himself. This was one of the reasons he had been so adamant about not knowing the vigilante's identity – the constant worry, the wondering if he was alright, the ache in his chest that grew until he heard from him. Before, Batman was just a nameless man who had no face, no emotions, nothing. There were times he wished it had stayed that way, but those times were often out weighed by how much he found he actually cared for Bruce Wayne. .

 

He gazed around at the few stray detectives wandering the halls, searching for Bruce amongst the faces, but he wasn't there. Gordon chewed on the inside of his lower lip, shutting the door behind him. He took up a quick pace towards the front of the building, past the holding cells, and stopped just short of the front entrance, seeing Bruce standing with one hand against the wall, leaning over someone Gordon couldn't quite identify until he turned the corner completely. Bruce had his big, playboy grin on his face, laughing, nodding, using swift, regal hand gestures when he spoke. Gordon couldn't hear what was being said, but he knew the look Bruce had on his face all too well. He tried to remain indifferent to the situation. _It's his playboy act, nothing else..._

 

Gordon stepped closer, peering around the wall to see who it was Bruce was using his relentless charms on. A few strands of out of place black hair was covering her face, but her athletic build, and curves gave her away: Selina Kyle. Gordon found he almost felt surprised, but in reasoning with himself, he did have to admit that the young woman was more than just your run-of-the-mill pretty cop –she was down right breathtaking. Gordon knew she was the type “playboy” Bruce Wayne would date in heartbeat.

 

She gave Bruce a smile that suggested she wasn't buying into his charms and mindless flirting. She pushed up on his shoulder, moving him out of the way enough to slip away. Bruce stared at her as if he'd just been shot, she laughed at him, a more sincere smile spreading across her face now. He pulled out a card, jotted something down on it. He took her hand and gently, suavely placed the card in the palm of her hand, closing her fingers around it. She slipped the card into her back pocket, her body language changing, leaning her body toward Bruce with more interest now.

 

Gordon felt a heat rise in his body, felt his cheeks flush. What was he getting all worked up for? _Bruce does this all the time – appearances, remember?_ It was hard to remember when Bruce was giving Selina the same, flirtatious grin, and staring at her as though she were all that existed at that moment. Rhythmic thumping pounded in Gordon's head, his heart racing. He could stand where he was, pretend he never saw it, go on with his day; or, he could walk over there and break it up right now, and risk looking like a complete ass. God, why did he feel like he was in high school again? He could be civil, yes, yes he could. _Bruce does this all the time... just keep repeating that to yourself._ It wasn't anything new, this was normal in the life of the playboy billionaire. _It means nothing, no matter how you think you feel, it means nothing._ Jealousy did not suit Jim Gordon.

 

No, he knew he had to just be calm, walk over to them casually, start a conversion, and pretend he was fine. Yes, fine. Tuning the corner blindly, he ran into Selina, dropping his folder of paperwork all over the ground. He swore under his breath, bending down to pick up the papers. He looked up absently to see Selina getting to her knees to help him.

 

“I'm so sorry. I must have been distracted,” she said coolly. Bruce had walked over, black polished shoes so shiny Gordon could see his face in them, standing to his right. Gordon waved off Selina's apology, keeping his head down and not meeting Bruce's steady gaze, somehow sure there was a little amusement in his eyes.

 

“It's alright.” Even though he knew it wasn't entirely her fault, it felt pretty good to let her take the blame. Bruce bent down beside him, gathering a couple of the stray papers, handing them to him, their fingers touching for a brief moment, and Gordon lifted his eyes to meet Bruce's. He looked away quickly, sliding the last of the papers into the folder. He stood, now facing Bruce and Selina, who were standing side-by-side.

 

“I'm headed home. Gotta work late tonight. It was nice to meet you, Bruce.” Selina said as she touched Bruce's arm warmly. Bruce smiled smugly at her, giving her a little wave, and then turning back to Gordon, who was staring blankly at him. Gordon didn't know whether to be angry with Bruce's obvious flirtation, or if he should be amused because it was always so over-done that anyone should be able to see through him.

 

“What?” Bruce asked innocently. Gordon gave him a questioning glare. “You did ask me to look into Selina Kyle didn't you?” Gordon narrowed his eyes at the younger man; no, he had not asked him, not yet. Now he had a real reason to be jealous, even angry.

 

“I don't think I had gotten around to that yet, Bruce,” Gordon said casually, trying to keep his tone level. He knew he was being a little irrational, Bruce was _just_ flirting with a pretty girl, nothing else. But Gordon did see him slip her a card, and he was sure they had set up a meet, if not a date, of some sort. He couldn't help but feel just a little threatened; this was a business associate and she wasn't just going to go away when Bruce finally decided to ignore her and toss her aside; either that or she would get tired of not getting anywhere with him, being strung along, and Gordon would be forced to listen to her complain about him, leading to a very complicated work environment.

 

Bruce put his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels, looking almost ashamed. He gave a small, guilty grin; “I could have sworn...” he started and then shook his head when Gordon looked like he was about to shoot fire out of his eyes. “My mistake. I misunderstood.”

 

“I do need a bigger background check on her though. So whatever date you two have planned, you may as well keep it and see what you can get out of her,” Gordon said spitefully. Bruce moved in towards Gordon, glancing around the the empty corridor quickly. He grasped hold of the older man's elbow, guiding him around the corner. Gordon stared at him, pulling his arm away.

 

“I don't think I like what you're a assuming,” Bruce said. It was evident he was trying to keep his voice calm, quiet.

 

“I wasn't assuming --”

 

“Yes you were.” Bruce had moved in closer, their faces so close Gordon could feel the other man's breath on his face. Had the situation been different, he would have grabbed Bruce's head and pulled him into a forgiving, loving kiss. Unfortunately, the look in Bruce's eyes was far from intimate. “Gordon, you either trust me or you don't. I'd like to think after the past two months – _after I_ _trusted you --_ that you could at least do the same.”

 

Well, there it was, the blow Gordon hadn't expected but should have seen coming. Bruce was right, completely right. Gordon should have trusted him, should have known that Bruce would have gone out of his way to do an extensive background check on Selina even if he never asked him to. That was just the way Batman was; he did everything to cover their asses, anything to make it just a little less complicated later on. And boy, did Gordon feel as though he'd been jumping the gun, assuming too much, reading into something that wasn't really there. He went to open his mouth but Bruce shook his head.

 

“I don't think I have time for this right now, Jim. I'll see you tonight.” Bruce turned, no other words said, no gesture, nothing. Bruce walked out of the front doors, jogging down the steps of MCU and disappearing around the corner, where he no doubt had his car parked.

 

Gordon really wanted to run out after him, apologize profusely, and forget it ever happened. A part of him also wanted to yell at Bruce for even having the playboy facade at all; if not for it, he wouldn't have to worry about him flirting with everyone who had two legs and breasts. For a brief moment, Gordon almost wished Bruce could just be Bruce, but that, he knew, would be changing him. That would be asking him for something that Barbara had asked from him, and it wasn't fair. Gordon did, however, begin to feel that he and Bruce needed to have that heart-to-heart talk. Gordon had a feeling there was more to Bruce's very sudden mood change than just his own jealous assumptions getting in the way..

 

\--------

 

 

Bright lights lit the city slowly, the nightlife of Gotham stirring in the streets, clubs blazing their bright search lights, and among everything else the newly made Batsignal shone proudly in the sky. Most nights, Gordon would be happy to see it, anticipating the moment he would turn around and Batman would be there, silent and strong. Tonight, however, was due to be far from normal, and far from friendly. Not only was Detective Selina Kyle standing with him and Stephens, but Bruce was most likely still very upset with him. It was definitely going to be an interesting evening.

 

“Does he always keep you waiting this long?” Selina asked, arms folded tightly over her chest, a frown plastered on her face. If only she knew who Batman really was, she might change her tune. Not that Gordon was willing to risk that.

 

“He'll be here,” Gordon said, hoping that Bruce wasn't going to skip out on their meeting just because he was angry with him. But Bruce didn't do that; he was a bigger man than that – he was out to help Gotham and he'd put her before his personal feeling any day. It was one reason Gordon admired the younger man so much, the reason he had fallen helplessly for him.

 

Stephens threw his cigarette butt to the ground, smashing it with his toe into the concrete of the rooftop. “Probably just taking care of a couple wackos.”

 

Gordon shrugged, leaning up against the side of the Batsignal. A slight thump next to him made him aware of the vigilante's presence long before he stepped out of the shadows. Gordon hit the switch on the light, nodding his head at Batman, who gave him a curt nod in return. _Hardly friendly_ , Gordon thought. Bruce was definitely still upset. Selina turned around, facing Batman, skepticism written on her face, but it clearly vanished once she gave Barman a once-over with her eyes. Gordon tightened his jaw. He was not going to be jealous; another person was allowed to find the same man attractive, it happened all the time. Gordon steadied himself, trying to calm his already racing heart.

 

Batman stepped towards Selina, arms at his sides in fists, stance ever at the ready; “Detective Kyle.” He turned his head in a nod. “Lt. Stephens. Commissioner.” Silence. No one said anything, each waiting for the other to speak first. Gordon was damned if Batman was going to intimidate him into not speaking.

 

“Detective Kyle is our newest transfer, on behalf of Mayor Garcia. He's requested she be on _this_ team,” Gordon said, walking in a little towards Selina, who Batman was staring down with his hard, cold glare.

 

Selina reached her hand out towards Batman. “It's a pleasure, sir.” Batman stared at her hand, then looked back to her face. She pulled her hand back, placing her fists on her hips. Gordon wanted to laugh; Batman never shook hands with anyone. That was the job of Bruce Wayne; as Batman he had a reputation to cover, and shaking hands was not the way to keep it up.

 

“Gordon told me that you assume the murders are based around holidays,” Batman said, his growl even deeper tonight, as if his voice had been strained somehow.

 

“There have only been two, but they have both been on holidays, with little items left at the scene that could represent the holiday in question. The murders are obviously linked. I'd even say it's safe to assume that the next could be on New Year's Eve,” Selina said. Her confidence had grown, and now she was stepping in closer to Batman, getting in his face. So far, Bruce held his ground and allowed her to invade his personal space, but Gordon watched his eyes; if she kept it up, she might not like the tone Batman would be using next.

 

“New Year's,” Batman said, looking to Gordon. “If she's right, we have to figure out the most obvious New Year's-related place that doesn't see a lot of foot traffic.”

 

“Agreed. We have less than a week to scout around. Figure out what we can.” Gordon turned to Stephens. “Check into anyone who might be related through cases or personally with DA Darin Martin and Assistant DA Laurel Messing.”

 

“Got it,” Stephens said, as he gave Batman a little wave and headed down the steps back to the offices.

 

“Selina, I want you to go check around town for all the biggest parties happening this year.”

 

Selina nodded. “Fine,” She said, though she didn't seem to happy about it, and Gordon assumed she wanted to stay, talk further with Batman on the case, but Gordon didn't see a reason for her to be there any longer. “It was nice to meet you... Batman.” She nodded to Gordon, following Stephens down the same staircase.

 

“We need to talk,” Gordon said turning to face Batman, “not here.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter Six

 

 

**Sunday, December 28 – Three Days After Christmas**

 

 

 

Bruce had insisted on his penthouse for their meeting, but that meant Alfred would be around, and Gordon didn't want the meddling old man to stick his nose into their personal business. So, Gordon in turn demanded they have their talk on a level field, just them, at his apartment. Bruce had agreed, even though he was reluctant and obviously unsure. Maybe if Gordon could catch him off guard, in unfamiliar surroundings, he could get the answers he desperately wanted from the younger man. That was the plan, anyway. He wasn't sure how it was actually going to play out, but he was preparing himself for the worst. It was all going to depend on exactly what random mood Bruce decided he was going to be in.

 

A knock at the door brought Gordon out of his comatose state. He turned off the television at which he had been blankly staring at on his way over to the door, pulling his emotions together, trying to steady his thoughts. He opened the door, and Bruce stood there in designer blue jeans, a fitted black t-shirt and his leather motorcycle jacket – brave, Gordon thought, since the streets were still so icy from the last snow fall. Bruce forced a smile, and Gordon moved away from the door. gesturing the younger man inside. Bruce shrugged off his jacket, tossing it over the side of Gordon's ratty old couch.

 

Gordon had to gather his thoughts again, distracted at the sight of Bruce in something other than a suit. The biker clothes made him even more attracted to the man; they were more proof that there were things about the playboy he was still didn't know. Bruce seemed to notice, smiling a little more genuinely, as if maybe he would use this to his advantage and weasel his way out of the talk. Gordon hardened his gaze on the other man, shaking his head.

 

“Jim,” Bruce said softly, stepping closer to Gordon. “Would it help if I apologized?”

 

“Why would you –” Gordon started, but Bruce put a hand up, silently asking him to stop.

 

“I'm sorry. For snapping at you the other day. I had a lot on my mind. But it's not an excuse. You didn't deserve that.” He had a very apologetic smile on his face, and Gordon nodded his acceptance. He was more than a little confused; he thought for sure he'd be the one having to apologize for his own jealous behavior. Sometimes Bruce Wayne was very surprising.

 

The billionaire gave him a small smile, nodding a little, looking down at his feet, then back to Gordon, “Are you still upset about Selina?”

 

Gordon rolled his eyes. “No, no. I let the worst of me take control. I know you didn't mean anything by it.”

 

Bruce slid his arms around Gordon's waist, drawing closer, “You're pretty cute when you're jealous.”

 

“I think it's in your best interest to retract that statement,” Gordon narrowed his eyes on Bruce, trying to keep his face as serious as possible.

 

“Is that an order, Commissioner?” Bruce asked, a clearly flirtatious smile on his face. Gordon shook his head, not answering the younger man at first; obviously he was thinking. Bruce dropped his arms from around him, taking one of Gordon's hands in his hand instead. “Something else bothering you?”

 

Gordon took a moment; he needed to think out the exact words for what he wanted to ask – to say. He'd had the thoughts formed in his mind for a while, and now he had Bruce in one place, to himself, for longer than an hours time. He could do this; he could finally find out exactly what Bruce Wayne was feeling. He squeezed Bruce's hand, leaning up against the back of the couch, pulling Bruce towards him. Gordon took a deep breath; he wasn't the sentimental or emotional type usually, and he knew Bruce wasn't either, which was why they rarely talked about it, but it had to be said, it had to be done. Gordon needed to know, needed to hear it.

 

“Bruce, you've been distant the last month or so, and its been hard to know exactly where this relationship stands right now. Where _I_ fit in.” Gordon brought his free hand up to the side of Bruce's head, combing a few stray hairs behind his ear. Bruce's eyes softened, the lines where his jaw was usually clenched gave way to a more relaxed expression, and Gordon was almost happy for it.

 

“I had no idea you felt that way. I don't want you to feel that way, not about us, anyway.” He paused, placing a small kiss on Gordon lips, and bringing both hands up to the older man's head, cradling his face. “There is no one else I'd rather be with than you. You've become a part of who I am, Jim. A part of what I always wanted to be. If I didn't have you I don't think there would be a point even trying anymore.” He kissed Gordon again, their lips lingering together, as if the next words Bruce wanted to say would be the last.

 

Gordon didn't expect the words Bruce said next to be exactly what he needed, or even what they might have both _actually_ been feeling, but he knew it'd be enough until they were both ready. He felt his pulse quicken, knowing in a few short seconds he might be able to breathe easy again, stop worrying so much, start giving of himself completely, with-out concern. He _needed_ this reassurance.

 

Bruce let out a slow breath, caressing Gordon's face softly with his fingertips, lips brushing against his as he spoke. “I need you, Jim. Now more than ever.”

 

 

\------

 

Bruce insisted on dinner, suggesting a fancy, expensive new restaurant up town. Gordon refused. One, neither of them were dressed for such a place, and two it was Gordon's turn to take him somewhere a little less snobbish, a place where the meals actually filled someone up rather than leaving them hungry for the rest of the night (he imagined those place worked out great for super models, but Gordon was far from that). Bruce agreed, but not without a bit of sarcastic complaining.

 

“Should we take your car, too?” Bruce asked as he grabbed his jacket off the back of the couch. Gordon glared at him knowingly, and the younger man laughed. “Again?”

 

Gordon ignored him. “This place isn't too far, we can walk there.”

 

“Walk? I have my bike and an extra helmet, we could just --”

 

“Afraid of a little exercise, Bruce?” Gordon interrupted, pushing the billionaire out the front door, as he grabbed his coat off the hook on the wall.

 

“No,” Bruce said, a sly grin spreading across his lips. “But if you wanted to do that, we could have just stayed here and ordered in.” Gordon stared at him; Bruce's blunt flirting was adorable, but he'd never admit it to him, afraid that the day he said so, Bruce would stop it all together.

 

“Let's go.” He pushed on the playboy's shoulder to move him towards the stairwell, picking up the pace so that Bruce knew he wasn't backing down on the walk.. They reached a street of slushed snow, and Bruce groaned, looking down at his expensive tennis shoes. Gordon just laughed.

 

“One of these days you'll start buying for practicality and not for looks,” Gordon predicted, walking down the last step and heading to the right, Bruce trailed behind him, but was catching up. Gordon felt his arm graze the younger man's, desperately wanting to reach out, take his hand, and have that Sunday afternoon walk so many couples talked about enjoying. Maybe someday, when people were a little more open. Maybe. He glanced at Bruce, who was already looking at him as if he had been thinking and feeling the same exact thing. Gordon sighed; he was about to open his mouth to say something when his phone let out a little tune, something he picked randomly when he got it. He took it out of his pocket, glancing at the screen: MCU.

 

He pressed the accept key. “Gordon.”

 

“It's Selina. I thought I should call and let you know of a few leads I have on the 'holiday' case.” She paused, waiting to see if Gordon wanted her to continue, but when he didn't speak she went on. “Been doing some poking around the square where they set off the fireworks on New Year's Eve. Couple shop owners said a man's been coming around asking questions about the most popular place to sit for the count-down. Just a lead, might not be anything, but if the killer is trying to avoid crowds but keep the relevance to the holiday obvious, it might just be the person we're looking for.”

 

“Did you happen to get a description of the man?” Gordon asked.

 

“No. I asked, but they couldn't remember. I'll keep asking around. I just wanted to give you a heads-up; keep you informed,” Selina said, sounding a little annoyed.

 

“I appreciate it, Detective. While you're tracking down a description, see if you can compile a list of discreet places in the square.”

 

“You got it.” She hung up. Gordon wasn't too sure what to think about the situation now. It sounded a little too good to be true, that someone who had been very quiet with the murders up until now would get a little sloppy and start scouting out places. It didn't work with everything they already knew about the murderer. But leads were leads, and he'd take what he could get right now; everything helped. He hoped they worked it out in three days, before another murder took place.

 

“Still unsure of her?” Bruce asked.

 

“A little.” He didn't care to try and explain his feelings on the subject, and it most certainly had nothing to do with Bruce's encounter with her, though that hadn't really helped the matter.

 

“I can still do that extensive background check, if you want.” Bruce said. “But it means you'll have to let me do what I do best.”

 

“You mean charm women into believing you actually might care about them?” Gordon asked, sarcasm thick in his voice.

 

“Jim...”

 

“Alright, alright. Fine.”

 

“I promise to tone it down. I won't use any measures that aren't necessary.” Bruce said playfully. Gordon rolled his eyes at him, but he trusted Bruce was telling the truth. He stopped at a small diner on the corner. Bruce kept walking, and Gordon pulled his arm back towards the entrance.

 

“This is it.” Gordon announced, opening the door and ushering Bruce inside. Bruce made a mock disgusted face. “It's not as bad as it looks.” Everything was well-worn in the diner, right down to the cushions on the booth seats. The lady at the counter motioned for them to take a seat wherever they wanted. Gordon walked to the back of the diner to a more private booth, shrugging off his coat and placing it beside him. Bruce slid in across from him.

 

“What'll you have?” the woman from the counter asked, a pad of paper and a pen in her hand. She was smiling brightly at Bruce, and Gordon wanted to groan his opinion of the many women who couldn't seem to keep their eyes off Bruce.

 

“Coffee,” Bruce blurted out, glaring over at Gordon as he sat back against the booth, resting his elbow on the back of it.

 

“Same. Pancakes, too,” Gordon said.

 

“What about you, sugar? Anything to eat?” the woman asked Bruce, who was now smiling at her flirtatiously. She turned a shade of crimson Gordon was sure didn't exist in the rainbow.

 

“No, thank you.” He gave her a wink as she walked away from the table,a bright smile plastered across her face.

 

Gordon laughed in disbelief. “You just can't control yourself can you?”

 

“What?” Bruce looked at him innocently, a grin slipping onto his face.

 

Gordon shook his head, sighing. The waitress returned with their coffees, giving Bruce a little giggle when he took the cup from her, accidentally touching her hand. Gordon couldn't help but roll his eyes again, and Bruce laughed at him once the girl left.

 

“You know I'll make it up to you,” Bruce said smoothly, sipping on his coffee. Gordon didn't say anything; he just watched the younger man. He was reliving their moment just a few hours before, when the words spilled from Bruce lips like lava, heating him from the inside out. There was still something amiss, but he couldn't really place it. Bruce looked over at him, as if reading his mind.

 

“Since we are on the subject of being truthful and trusting each other, I should probably tell you something, because I know sooner or later you're going to go snooping around and find out anyway. I'd rather you hear it from me.” Bruce set his coffee down. He leaned over the table, and Gordon leaned towards him, figuring the other man didn't want anyone to hear him. “I've been forced to see a psychiatrist.”

 

Gordon furrowed his eyebrows, “Why?”

 

“It's part of the agreement with Garcia and the judge.” He stared more intently at Gordon. “It was that or be admitted to Arkham for an indefinite amount of time. I opted for the 'twice a week' plan.”

 

“What are they treating you for?”

 

Bruce laughed, a little nervously. “That's the funny part: Dissociative Identity Disorder.”

 

Gordon didn't find it funny. In fact, he was a little embarrassed for Bruce. “They obviously haven't really listened to you if they think that's a true diagnosis.”

 

Bruce shrugged. “It doesn't matter. They want to think something is wrong with me. Better this than something else.”

 

“What made them think you have DID?”

 

“My parents' murder,” Bruce said quietly. It was a topic Gordon never brought up, having been there with Bruce after the incident happened; he didn't feel he needed to know more than he knew from the reports. Gordon could believe that, Arkham would throw that in there for good measure, as a reason; it was a good reason, and probably the most believable. Bruce was right. It was better that than something they thought he might need to be locked up for. It could have been something much worse.

 

“They haven't put you on medication, have they?” Gordon asked, though he was sure he knew the answer already; it made everything more clear, especially the reasons for the younger man's moodiness, especially if he didn't need the medication at all, which Gordon suspected he didn't.

 

“Well...” Bruce started. That was all Gordon needed to know.

 

“You don't have to take them, Bruce. You can just throw them out.”

 

Bruce shook his head. “Arkham is a little smarter than that, Jim. They administer everything through shots or intravenously. I don't have much of a choice.”

 

Gordon felt a rage start to grow in his chest. He knew Bruce would fight it if he could, but it would risk getting him thrown into Arkham permanently, and that was something they were both working hard to avoid. Unfortunately, they both had more important matters in Gotham to attend to and just three days to do it.

 

 

 

 


	7. Chapter Seven

 

 

**Wednesday, December 31 – New Year's Eve Evening**

 

 

 

The streets of downtown Gotham had started to fill early on with people wanting to find good spots to watch the ball drop and the fireworks go off. Gordon knew crowd control was going to be a huge issue for the GCPD, and had called in every last officer to work a little overtime. He knew the mayor wasn't going to like that, but when they had a murderer out there with no leads as to who it was or where they would strike next. Gordon didn't care what the mayor thought; His job was to protect this city, not force it further down a larger bottomless pit, writing it off because there just weren't enough officers – it would be a lie, and one Gordon wasn't going to be a part of.

 

The information Selina had extracted from the shop owners lead them to a place that would be very out of the way and secluded during the festivities. Gordon was going to have Stephens on it, keeping watch for anything unusual, but Bruce insisted he be there too. Gordon didn't argue; the younger man's reasons were more than acceptable – if the killer did show up, Stephens would need backup, and quick. Who better than Batman? Stephens didn't mind, but he did tell Gordon that he didn't want to have any conversations with the Bat, so he'd better keep his distance and only talk him if he needed it. Gordon couldn't see why people thought Batman was so intimidating, but then again he may have also been a little biased.

 

There were not connections to either the Assistant DA or the DA that lead them to a possible next murder victim, which made the night even more difficult, as it could have been any person on the street. Gordon himself suspected it may be someone in the court system, but he had no proof; the mayor told him to keep his mouth shut about it and not worry people where worry wasn't due. It was more than difficult for Gordon to keep quiet when he had a suspicion he was right. Hopefully as the night went on the answer would make itself clear.

 

“Commissioner, we're set at point A,” Stephens grumbled through the walkie-talkie Gordon was holding in his hand.

 

“Point B, too.” Selina said through her side. She was standing watch over on the other roof across from the building they were suspecting. She would watch the other angle in case they missed something. Gordon was on the ground, in the middle of the crowd, trying to keep his head straight, eyes open, and senses aware; New Years was definitely not a good time to be trying to catch a killer.

 

“Keep me posted.” Gordon called back through his walkie, clipping it back onto his belt. The crowd was starting to pile in thicker, the countdown growing near. If they were wrong, if they had been mislead, this was all going to be for nothing. A little part of Gordon's stomach sunk a little at the realization that everything about their leads just seemed so wrong – so staged. He couldn't be sure, or even begin to guess where they had been lead astray, but it could have been anywhere down the line, the shop owners perhaps paid off to lead them to the spot they were in now. After years and years, Gordon knew when something wasn't right. This was definitely one of those times.

 

He pulled out his cell phone, finding the number for the Batsuit's headgear phone (they had recently installed for these occasions). “What's wrong?” came the rough whisper of Batman.

 

“I think we have this all wrong. I'm pretty sure we've been set up to believe this is what we're looking for, but something doesn't sit well me.” Gordon replied, walking through a crowd of teenage girls huddling together, towards an open alley-way.

 

“I had the same feeling. It all seems too easy.”

 

“Tell Stephens to keep a look out up there. I need you down here with me. I have a pretty bad feeling.” Gordon hung up the phone before Bruce could object or question his logic any further. He only had to wait two minutes before he felt the wind change behind him; without even turning around, he already knew Batman was there.

 

“What's your theory?” Batman asked.

 

“Haven't you noticed that the murders have been done away from where the events happen, not just in an uncrowded area? At Thanksgiving, it was a tree that no one was even close to. Christmas was at the small church no one goes to, rather than at the big one everyone goes to.”

 

“We need to figure out what's obvious but not popular.” Batman said with a nod – what Gordon considered a nod ,anyway; it was always hard to tell when he was wearing the cowl, and his movements were often choppy. “We don't have a lot of time to figure it out before the ball drops, either.”

 

Gordon placed his hands on his hips. “What if we're wrong about the assumption that it's happening at the ball drop? That the stroke of midnight is officially New Year's Day and that it is the exact time the murderer is going to kill again? Doesn't that seem so...”

 

“Easy?” Batman asked, giving Gordon a knowing look. Maybe they were lead to believe all this so they would be out of the way, so that nothing would happen and then come tomorrow they would assume the next murder wasn't going to take place at all. The reality was that tomorrow was New Year's Day _all day;_ it could happen at any time.

 

Gordon threw his hands up in disgust. “We're wasting our damn time here. Who ever suggested that it was going to be New Year's Eve when the fireworks went off and the ball dropped has some explaining to do.” He was growing aggravated; he should have listened to his own gut long ago, stopped being so worried about his personal life and put his job first, where it belonged.

 

Batman was quiet for a minute, shifting his weight so he was leaning in towards Gordon. “Selina Kyle,” he whispered. Gordon glared at him knowingly. He didn't want to be right about her, didn't want to think that maybe another corrupt cop had slipped past them. He couldn't jump to conclusions either, though; she may very well have been misinformed.

 

Gordon looked to Batman. “Alright. Deepen your investigation on her. I won't say a word this time. Promise.”

 

Batman made a noise that Gordon thought was perhaps a snicker, but he couldn't be sure. “I'll see what I can do.” There was silence for a few moments while Gordon checked his watch for the time. Not much longer now and, the truth would become clear, but he had a pretty good feeling for the outcome.

 

“Go watch the tower, will you?” Gordon asked, but when he looked up from his watch again, Batman had already left. He sighed, watching the seconds on his watch pass slowly, a minute left. One minute to see if the murderer was as smart as they thought.

 

Everything cleared, perfectly and smoothly. No violence out of the norm, no murders, no killings, nothing. By the time the streets were empty, Stephens, Selina, Batman and Gordon were alone, staring at each other, looking almost ashamed. Gordon stood, arms over his chest, and heaved a sigh. Stephens shrugged, and Selina just stared at him.

 

“Go home. All of you,” Gordon said, waving a hand at them. “We'll meet again in the morning.” Stephens nodded, grabbing Selina by the arm to turn her towards the police car they had arrived in together. Gordon turned to Batman. “I could use a ride.”

 

\-------

 

The tinkling of Gordon's cell phone brought him out of a deep sleep. He reached for it on the nightstand, bringing it in close to it face, trying to see the letters on the screen without his glasses. It was three letters, so he assumed it was MCU, as it was the only three letter number in his phone.

 

“Gordon,” he mumbled into the phone after hitting the accept key. He felt he'd had this phone conversation many times in the past few days, and he was sure this one was going to turn out the same. He felt around the nightstand for his glasses, finding them and securing them on his face.

 

“I'm sure I don't even need to tell you this,” Stephens said, sounding just as tired as Gordon felt.

 

“Just tell me where.”

 

“Clock Tower.”

 

It was far from the place Gordon had suspected. Why the Clock Tower? “Be there in twenty,” he said, hanging up the phone and turning over to face Bruce, who was hiding his head under a pillow, unmoving. Gordon shook his head. “We have to go.”

 

Bruce stirred, peeking his head out from under the pillow so that only his eyes were visible to Gordon. “We? If I go it's going to look suspicious.”

 

“You have to drive me. The Clock Tower is not within walking distance.”

 

“What happened to your oh-so-wonderful public transportation?” Bruce whined, sitting up in bed now, stretching his arms. Gordon just stared at him, hardly in the mood to be playing these games with him. Bruce rolled his eyes, kicking his feet over the side of the bed. “Fine. You owe me coffee.”

 

They dressed quickly, leaving just five minutes later. Bruce yawned the whole way there. He dropped Gordon off at the corner near the Clock Tower, and sped off down the street towards a small, family-owned coffee shop, where he'd sit, have his coffee and wait for Gordon to call him with details. Gordon almost wished these murders would stop happening during the day; Batman being unable to attend the meetings was growing old, especially when they then had to turn around and have another meeting with the mayor.

 

Gordon walked up to the police line, the feeling of deja-vu running through his head as he ducked under the yellow police tape. Didn't he just do this a few days ago? Selina popped up next to him from out of nowhere; he looked at her with a little surprise, but she smiled innocently. She put a hand on his shoulder, leading him towards the elevator inside the lobby of the tower.

 

“Gotta go up,” she said quietly, ushering Gordon into the shaft before pushing the up arrow. Gordon nodded, standing beside the young woman, hands folded in front of him. The elevator went to the last floor at the top, and Gordon gestured for Selina to go first as the door slid open.

 

What Gordon was expecting and what he saw were very different. Inside the Clock Tower was a gear room that controlled the clock. The gears were, of course, huge, and immaculately kept, cleaned, oiled, and working. Gordon had expected another strangulation, a body hanging from the hands of the clock, but not this – not a mutilated body mangled in the gears of the huge clock, blood spilled over the floor below it, the insides of what used to be a person stuck in the crevices of the gears. Everything had been stopped, of course, to aid in the investigation, and the soon-to-follow clean up. Gordon shook his head, looking over at Stephens, who was taking down notes on a small pad of paper.

 

“Have you identified the body?” Gordon asked, approaching Stephens, with his hands in his pockets. Given the time, he might be able to figure it out himself, but he wanted to spend the least amount of time here as possible and start working out the specifics of the case, to start reaching for new ideas on the next murder, because he knew there would be one.

 

“Judge Hampton,” he said, looking up from the paper. “His wallet was left on the floor next that gear there. Along with an unused party popper.” _There's the trinket to mark the holiday_ , Gordon thought. He felt that spot in his stomach grow cold, and he started to hate himself. He knew it would be today, he knew they had been sent off course. Someone was throwing them off track purposely, that much was obvious, but as to who, Gordon couldn't even begin to guess, not with out more information.

 

“The mayor is not going to like this.”


	8. Chapter Eight

 

**Monday, January 5 – Jim's Birthday??**

 

 

 

 

The year before, Gordon had allowed everyone at City Hall to throw him a huge fiftieth birthday party, with a huge cake, a buffet, and lots of people he hardly knew. He then also allowed everyone at MCU to throw him a party – a little more tame with a small cake, delivered pizza, and just the officers he was closest to. He was not, however, going to allow that this year; fifty-one years old was not an age of celebration, but an age where Gordon thought one should just stop counting. He had asked Stephens, who was in charge of the party the year before, to keep it to himself and not remind the whole office, especially Bruce Wayne. Stephens, of course, found this just the slightest bit suspicious.

 

“Why can't I tell Wayne?” he had asked, and Gordon's only response was to stare the man down with death written in his eyes and a scowl on his lips. He was sure the other man got the hint, but it didn't stop him from speculating as to the relationship between Gordon and Wayne. Good thing Gordon trusted Stephens with his own life.

 

This year Gordon didn't want to think about it; he had other important issues to deal with, things that made birthdays seem too juvenile. So far, he had three murders, three different holidays, and one killer. The only thing relating the victims was their employment in the same court system, but nothing else. Judge Hampton was the judge in charge of Bruce's case, which made it even more of an issue. The Mayor either had to find another judge they could trust with the case, or make the case public, which Gordon knew he didn't want to do; Garcia had learned that the help of the vigilante was more than just a little useful – it was downright needed. Gordon knew he could go on doing his job without Batman, but it would definitely put a damper on a lot of things, while making others just a little harder to achieve. Batman could do things the rest of the GCPD could not do, and had the resources no one else did. Garcia knew they needed Batman. Gordon was confident they would find another judge, that his wasn't an issue. Not yet, anyway.

 

Bruce had taken Selina on a few dates that he had told Gordon about, but so far she hadn't offered any other information about her background or personal life that Gordon or Bruce hadn't already known. Either she really was just that perfect, or she was very, very good at keeping it hidden. Gordon wanted to believe the first, but every time he looked at her his gut twitched towards the latter. After years of being a cop, he'd learned to trust his instincts, but this time he wasn't sure what those instincts were trying to tell him. Was Selina just your regular good cop with a bad child hood, or a corrupt cop hiding behind the good cop facade? Maybe it was neither; maybe he was completely wrong and losing his touch. Selina Kyle made Gordon second-guess himself, a sign that something wasn't right.

 

The rumors about Alberto Falcone had started to die down after the New Year, but there were still whispers that he was wandering around town, going to Arkham to see his father, joining the socialite parties at the high end fund-raisers, where he gave a substantial amount of money to each cause. This brought Gordon's attention back to the man, as he was previously unaware that Alberto had that kind of money. Yes, the Falcones had had money at one point, but when Maroni had taken over as head of the mob family and lost their whole savings in the Joker incident, Gordon thought there was nothing left. Alberto had been living in Italy for quite a few years,though; who knows what stocks or saving accounts had been set up for the young man by his father before he was locked away in Arkham? The situation was becoming even more curious, and a lot more suspicious.

 

And on top of everything going on in his professional life, Gordon also had those issues with Bruce Wayne. Not that there had been issues since their talk, but he was growing more and more worried for the younger man. Bruce had started complaining of headaches just a few days before, saying it felt something like a migraine, but that he'd be fine. Then he complained of dizzy spells, blamed it on not enough water, said he was dehydrating in the Batsuit, Gordon wasn't going to buy into either of those. Both symptoms were followed by an outburst of anger on Bruce's part, accompanied by screaming, and within second he was back to normal, acting as if nothing ever happened. Gordon tried to ask him about it later, but Bruce denied the incident had happened all-together, leaving Gordon even more concerned. Somehow, he needed to figure out who at Arkham was giving Bruce treatment and if possible bring a stop it. He hoped that when they found a new judge for Bruce's case the issue could be addressed and the Arkham sessions dropped.

 

Then there was the phone call from his kids, which brightened his day. They wanted to wish him a happy birthday, saying they sent him something in the mail, and that they would have liked to have seen him, but their mother wouldn't allow it with the recent news in Gotham reaching her ears. Jimmy asked how Batman was and if they had caught any new bad guys yet; Gordon had to tell him no, at least not yet. Jimmy wasn't disappointed though; he knew Batman would catch someone soon, or so he said. Then Barbara took the phone, wished him a very happy birthday and attempted to talk to Gordon about Bruce, poking around the subject, asking if Gordon was happy, how often did he stay over at the playboy's house... Soon Gordon just cut her short, telling her he had an emergency meeting. He knew she could sense the lie, but it was better than being interrogated.

 

The mayor had also called, wishing Gordon the happiest of birthdays along-side a stern warning that he had better be investigating the murder cases a little deeper, that he didn't want to hear of any more killings. Gordon wished it were that easy, but the clues were not connecting the way he wanted them to. He merely told Garcia that they were working around the clock to prevent the next murder. Gordon couldn't think of the next holiday the murderer might use; there was Martin Luther King Jr. Day, but that was hardly a holiday that received a lot of attention, and Gordon was sure the attention was half the reason behind the murders. That left Valentine's Day, which was over a month away. This worked out perfectly, giving them enough time to work through the case more thoroughly. The next victim was the biggest issue, if they could predict who it was, they could prevent it from happening at all. Gordon was still trying to figure out how the victims were related, aside from working in the justice system; there had to be something else, something that connected them...

 

“Gordon,” Stephens said from behind him. Gordon turned half way, hands behind his back, staring out the large window in the meeting room at MCU. “Mr. Wayne is on his way in, and before you get mad, I didn't say anything to him about today.”

 

Gordon turned all the way around, Stephens turning tail quickly, leaving the doorway empty. Bruce's broad frame came into view just seconds later, a smile plastered on his face. He was wearing a gray pinstriped suit, his hair combed neatly. Gordon sighed. He hoped beyond anything else that Bruce Wayne had not figured out it was his birthday; otherwise it was due to be very, very embarrassing. Bruce walked into the room, hands in his pockets. Gordon spoke first, before Bruce could say anything.

 

“How was your session this morning?” he asked, stepping away form the window, watching Bruce shut the door behind him.

 

“Same as usual,” Bruce replied. “Are you busy?”

 

Gordon eyed him carefully.“Not entirely, I was just about to go start work on --” But Bruce's eyes lit up with excitement, grabbing hold of Gordon's arm before he could finish, pulling the commissioners coat off the back of a chair and handing it to him.

 

“Great. Put this on.”

 

“Why? Where are we going?” Gordon slid his jacket over his shoulders. Bruce was pushing him out the door.

 

“You'll see,” Bruce said, guiding Gordon down the halls to the front doors. They passed Stephens on the way, who looked as if he were trying his hardest to suppress a laugh; Gordon glowered at him, hoping he really didn't have anything to do with this.

 

Gordon was expecting Bruce to have one of his many expensive cars waiting out front, but to his surprise there was a long, black stretch limo parked at the curb. Oh, he had a very, very bad feeling about this – very bad indeed. Bruce gave him a very pleased look, but Gordon shook his head as Alfred stepped out of the passenger's front door, opening the back door for Gordon and Bruce. The billionaire gave him a little push inside, sliding in behind him. Gordon sat next to the opposite door, thinking about his escape plan. Bruce eyed him cautiously before flicking the door lock.

 

“If you keep attempting to escape, I'm going to start taking it personally,” Bruce said, leaning up against the other door, facing Gordon, who narrowed his eyes on the younger man. So far Bruce hadn't made mention of his birthday, but Gordon was starting to get the feeling that he knew, but wasn't yet willing to admit to it.

 

“I have a lot of things that need to be done today, Bruce.” Gordon folded his arms over his chest, jolting forward a little when the limousine pulled away from the curb. Well, he was stuck now, at least until they stopped again.

 

“Relax,” Bruce insisted. He pushed a button on his door for the tinted window divider, leaving him and Gordon to talk privately. He scooted next to Gordon, placing a hand on his thigh, leaning into him. Gordon felt Bruce's lips touch his softly, a hand on the side of his face, a gentle caress. It had been a few days since they'd had even a moment to themselves, time to relax and to enjoy teach others' company. Gordon parted his mouth, working his lips against Bruce's feverishly, hands now tangled in his hair, pulling him in deeper. It wasn't as long as he had hoped the kiss would be, but it was peaceful and reassuring.

 

“Don't pretend you don't know,” Gordon said breathlessly, hand on Bruce's shoulder, fingers gripping the smooth cotton blend of his shirt. Bruce smirked, fixing Gordon's glasses, which had gone lopsided on his nose from their faces being pressed together.

 

“I'm not admitting to knowing or not knowing anything. Not yet,” Bruce said hoarsely. It was almost a growl but not quite as deep, more predatory than anything else. Bruce didn't have to say it, it was obvious to Gordon just by his answer that he already knew. He sighed, mentally preparing himself for the lavish surprise Bruce was most likely taking him to. It couldn't be good, not when it involved Bruce Wayne.

 

They had driven for maybe twenty minutes when the limousine stopped. Bruce unlocked the doors, sliding out one side while Gordon opened his door to slide out his side. A very tall skyscraper stood gallantly in front of them: Wayne Enterprises.  _ This really can't be good, _ Gordon thought wearily. Bruce patted him on the shoulder, leading him up the steps, with a small smile on his face. A man at the top of the stairs opened the door for them, leading them across a threshold to a very wide lobby, a reception desk to the right. Bruce approached it, smiling softly at the young blond thing behind the counter.

 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Wayne,” she cooed from her chair, not really looking up to know who it was that had entered the lobby.

 

“Good afternoon, Sheryl,” Bruce nodded, his smile even bigger now. He started across the hall, motioning for Gordon to follow him. “You're really going to enjoy this, Jim. I promise.”

 

Gordon followed him after a moment of hesitation. “So help me, Wayne --” he started, but he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence, his blood beginning to boil just thinking about a party. Bruce laughed, herding him into the elevator and hitting the button before he could even think about jumping back out.

 

“You have got to lighten up, Jim. I'm not out to make your life miserable,” Bruce insisted. Gordon stared at him blankly, a little unsure as how to react or what to say to that statement. He hadn't actually thought that Bruce was out to make his life miserable, just maybe that he never thought that other people might not like the same things he did. Now, he was curious as to just what Bruce had planned.

 

The elevator slid to a stop, the doors opening up to a flourescently lit room, a couple of computer stations, filing cabinets, and tons of what Gordon assumed were prototype technologies that Wayne Enterprises was working on. Bruce walked deeper into the room, tugging gently on Gordon's sleeve. A man, dark skinned and wearing a fairly nice suit with a bow tie, stood by a door to the right, greeting Bruce with an open smile and a brief handshake.

 

“Mr. Wayne. Glad you made it.” The man turned to Gordon with the same open, welcoming smile. “Commissioner Gordon, it's a pleasure.”

 

“Jim, this is Lucius Fox. Wayne Enterprises CEO,” Bruce said by way of introduction, a very smug smile spread across his face.

 

“Among other things, as well,” Fox said, turning around and opening the door behind him. He turned his head back to Gordon while Bruce walked through the door. “You're really going to like this.”

 

Gordon frowned, curious now as to what it was these two were up to – and so help them both it had better not be a party. If he walked in there and saw anyone other than the three of them he was going to scream. Fox stood out of the way to let him enter the next room, which was brightly lit, almost pure white. In the middle of the room was an armored vehicle that Gordon recognized as the Tumbler, except it looked a little different, a little sleeker. Gordon looked at Bruce, who shrugged.

 

“It's hardly finished yet, and we're still working out a few modification.” Bruce walked over to the vehicle, pressing a button on a key chain he took from his pocket. Where Gordon expected the top of the car to open up, the side door flipped up instead, an improvement, it seemed. “I knew you wouldn't accept anything I bought you for your birthday. So I thought maybe you'd like test out the new “batmobile”, as Alfred is calling it.” He rolled his eyes a little at the word. 

 

Gordon wanted to laugh, but was a little taken aback by the offer. He would be lying if he said he wasn't more than just a little excited about trying it out. “I, well, that is...” Bruce motioned him over to the vehicle. He stumbled over, mouth agape, staring, wanting so badly to touch it. He ducked under the door and slid into the driver's side, looking at all the buttons and gadgets. Bruce shut the door on him, a second later appearing on the passenger side, shutting his door as well.

 

“Where are the keys?” Gordon asked, palm out, waiting. Bruce chuckled, pushing a button on what looked like it could be the dashboard. The car roared to life, and Gordon felt every animal instinct light up inside him. Oh, this was definitely what he needed today, something to take his mind off of everything else he had to deal with, if even only for a few minutes. He put his foot over the gas, hands on the wheel, glancing over at Bruce.

 

The billionaire raised his eyebrows.“What are you waiting for?”

 

 

\-------

 

Stepping out of the limousine at Bruce's penthouse a few hours later, Gordon felt more rejuvenated than he had in a long time. Sure, every muscle in his body ached from the hairpin turns he did on the test room floor with the Tumbler, and every bone creaked from being in one place for too long, but it was worth every minute, especially when Bruce suddenly grasped hold of the side of the door for dear life, white knuckles and all; Gordon was quite proud of that accomplishment, even if Bruce denied being at all scared.

 

The winter night air was cool on his face, refreshing. He stood just in front of the building, waiting for Bruce and Alfred to finish with the limo driver. Bruce came up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder, pushing him towards the lobby. The doorman open the door, stepping aside to allow them entrance and tipping his hat to Bruce, who gave a little wave. Alfred strode up beside them, walking quickly past to the elevator, hitting the call button. The ride up was quiet, and Gordon found he didn't mind, as he was still reliving the feeling of the Tumbler under him, shaking his body, being in control of every movement it made; it made him feel alive.

 

Alfred held the elevator door open with his arm, allowing Bruce and Gordon to step through first. Gordon shrugged his coat off, about to throw it over the glass table sitting by the elevator when Alfred came up beside him, taking the coat, and putting it in the closet. Gordon muttered a thanks he was sure the butler didn't hear, making his way towards the living room. He plopped down on one of the black leather sofa's, feeling every ache melt away as he did. He put his feet up on the coffee table, well aware that if Alfred caught him doing this he would most likely get yelled at in the politest way possible.

 

Bruce walked into the room, now stripped of his suit, wearing a white undershirt, casual blue jeans, and his feet bare. Gordon watched him walk over to the fireplace and turn on the gas. Bruce pulled a remote from the mantle to dim the lights, an orange glow warming the room. Finally, he strolled over to the sofa, sitting down next to Gordon and placing his feet up on the coffee table next to his.

 

“You know, it's bad enough  _ I'm _ going to get yelled at for this,” Gordon said, gesturing to the younger man's feet.

 

Bruce shrugged. “He'll yell at me before he does you.” He looked at Gordon's feet. “But, if you want to lessen the blow, you might take your shoes off.”

 

Gordon sat up, kicking off each shoe, then sitting back and putting his feet up again, “Better?”

 

Bruce shrugged. “What do you want for dinner?”

 

“Doesn't matter. We can go wherever,” Gordon grumbled. He figured Bruce already had dinner plans for him anyway and was just being nice by asking him.

 

“No, no. You're the birthday boy, Commissioner. We'll have whatever you want,” Bruce was smiling insistently at him.

 

Gordon was surprised; he hadn't expected that at all. “Do we have to go out?”

 

“Does it look like I'm dressed to go out?” Bruce asked, gesturing at his current outfit. “I'd prefer to stay in, if that's okay with you.”

 

“Oh, that's perfect,” Gordon said. Delivery was what he was used to these days, not having the time to cook – not that he _could_. “Chinese.”

 

“You eat Chinese almost every night,” Bruce stated, trying to keep his face straight. He looked as if he wanted to laugh at how predictable the older man was.

 

“So? I like it. It's what I want. It's my birthday,” Gordon retorted, a little annoyed, but keeping a smile on his face. Bruce nodded, sitting up from the couch, pulling his cell phone from his pocket to make the call. “Hey, you didn't ask what I wanted!” Gordon called after him.

 

Bruce poked his head back into the room. “We eat at this place at least once a week and you order the same thing each time. I think I know what you want by now.” Gordon had opened his mouth to protest, then narrowed his eyes at Bruce, giving him a grumpy grin.

 

“Fine. Just make sure you get extra egg rolls this time. Alfred eats them all.”

 

\-----

 

 

Gordon ate until he couldn't shove another bite into his mouth without feeling it start to come back up on him. Bruce had eaten very little, but Gordon couldn't recall a time he ever saw the other man eat more than a couple bites of anything. He tossed the chopsticks on the coffee table in defeat, loosening his tie. He settled back into the sofa, wishing he was at home so he could undo the top button of his pants and not look like such a slob. He really did eat way too much.

 

“Master Wayne, if you don't need me, sir, I'll be leaving for the night and returning in the morning.” Alfred stated, standing properly at the side of the sofa and looking down at them.

 

Bruce waved him off, “Yes, Alfred, that's fine.” The butler nodded, leaving for the elevator.

 

“He doesn't usually leave,” Gordon said, suspiciously.

 

“We've had some security issues at the manor, the system is on the fritz. We're having some people by tonight to fix it. He'll be back in the morning,” Bruce explained. Gordon wanted to laugh; of course Alfred would be back in the morning, Bruce couldn't function without his coffee, and heaven forbid he learn to make it himself. He wondered what the billionaire would do when Alfred finally called it quits.

 

“So,” Bruce started after a moment of silence between them, “how old are you now? Sixty?”

 

“Your luck is running very thin, Mr. Wayne,” Gordon said, narrowing his eyes on him. He was about to say more, but Bruce had already scooted over to him and started to remove his tie.

 

“Really? I think my luck is about to get even better,” Bruce whispered softly into his ear, removing the tie completely.

 


	9. Chapter Nine

 

 

**Tuesday, January 6 -- Day after Jim's Birthday**

 

 

 

Gordon didn't really think about it, the thought not crossing his mind until the bed shifted beside him just slightly, the slick sound of sheets rustling, soft footsteps retreating out of the room and down the hall-way. Bruce hadn't been on patrol yet, and though he wasn't  _ really _ needed every night, Gordon knew that the playboy  _ had _ to go out, for his own sanity. Gordon considered this to be a little obsessive-compulsive of him, but never tried to convince him to do other-wise. To be honest, Gordon was pretty much the same way. If only Bruce would take his own advice and relax now and then.

 

Gordon reached for his glasses, realizing the second he felt for them that he had left them in the living room. He stumbled out of bed, picking up his boxers from the floor and pulling them on before shuffling out into the hall-way after Bruce. He kept one hand on the wall, trying to keep his balance without being able to see. His hand grazed a light switch, which turned on the lights for the living room. Bruce was no where to be seen. Gordon squinted his way to the coffee table, where he had placed his glasses their fury of emotion. He put them on, sighing in relief at not having to strain to see anymore. He glanced around, aware that Bruce had a few secret doors leading to a room where he could change quickly into the Batsuit; how he ever left the building in that thing without being noticed, Gordon wasn't sure. Maybe he used the balcony.

 

Gordon briefly considered going out on the balcony to wait and see, but he looked down at his current outfit and decided against it. Instead he took a seat on the couch, glancing on the time on the large metal clock sitting over the fire place: two A.M. It was a little late for Bruce to be going out; Gordon thought he had said he started his rounds closer to midnight, if not earlier. At first, Gordon wondered if there had been a call he didn't hear, but a quick check of his cell phone, laying on the side table, quickly eased his mind.

 

The clunk of boots down the marble hall-way behind him caught his attention. Batman was now standing there, pulling on gloves, adjusting the other pieces of the suit. The vigilante seemingly hadn't noticed Gordon was up yet, but that changed quick. The other man's eyes rose to meet Gordon's, sparkling a little from the light of the room. He tipped his head a little, obviously curious.

 

“Couldn't sleep,” Gordon mumbled, trying to suppress the yawn that pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Where you headed?”

 

Bruce stepped into the living room, rounding the side of the couch until he stood, in front of Gordon. “There's been a string of burglaries lately, usually around the same time every morning. Hasn't been anything big enough to call the attention of the commissioner, but I'm still looking into it. It might be that one piece we're missing in our case.”

 

“Burglaries? As in houses?” Gordon asked, feeling as if he might have been more tired than he thought; since when did Batman investigate small-time burglaries?

 

“So far. The minute they become robberies you'll have another case on your hands. I'm trying to prevent that.” The billionaire's tone was matter-of-fact. Gordon always wanted to laugh when Bruce talked in his normal, casual tone while wearing the Batsuit; it was far from intimidating and made Gordon realize just how amazing Bruce really was. Sometimes, the realization that Bruce was Batman was a surreal one, and whenever he was reminded, he couldn't help but feel proud of the playboy for standing up for what he believed in, for Gotham City. If Gordon were a little younger...

 

He shook the thought off. Bruce was staring at him, long and steady. Gordon frowned, remembering they were having a conversation. “Any leads?”

 

“None. Consistently, witnesses say it's a female, wearing all black. That's nothing unusual.” Bruce touched Gordon's shoulder as he walked past him to the balcony doors. “I have to get going. I'll be back in a few hours, Jim. If you stay up, be sure to put some pants on before Alfred returns.”

 

Gordon looked down at himself trying to keep his face as serious as possible. “I thought I looked rather dashing.” The smile he'd tried to suppress finally slipped onto his face, earning a small grin and a slight eye roll from Bruce. “I'm headed back to bed. Be careful.” He stood, turning back towards the hall leading to the bedroom. “Oh, and we have a meeting with the mayor tomorrow at ten. Try not to stay out too late.”

 

A moan escaped Bruce's mouth; he hated the meetings about as much as Gordon did. “Great. I won't be too long.” Gordon didn't even turn back. He just waved a hand at him, shuffling back toward the bedroom, feeling even more tired now than he had when he first woke up.

 

 

\------

 

 

“Will you stop yawning?” Gordon growled at Bruce. He was sitting in the passenger seat of the Lamborghini, allowing Gordon to drive, which he was sure was only because the billionaire was too tired. Bruce grumbled something, rubbing at his eyes. Gordon shook his head. “You had three cups of coffee, Bruce. You should be able to stay awake long enough to get through this meeting.”

 

Another yawn from the playboy; this one he tried to suppress, hiding his mouth with his hand, glancing at Gordon shamefully. “Sorry.” Gordon knew he couldn't really help it; he had been out until six A.M. chasing some masked burglar to three different houses, only to have her get away on the last one. Gordon wasn't sure how Bruce lost track of one burglar, but he swore that the woman was very agile and quick on her feet, nothing like anyone he'd been up against before. It showed, too. Bruce had returned with quite a few scratches to his torso, bruises on his arms and back. Gordon tried to express his concern when he saw them, but Bruce brushed it off saying he'd had worse. Some battles with Bruce weren't worth the fight.

 

Gordon parked the car just outside City Hall, follow the same routine as always. Bruce drove off to the parking garage, and Gordon made his way up to the mayor's office. He walked past the secretary with a little wave Before tapping on the door to Garcia's office. There was a muffled voice, something that sounded like “come in”, though he couldn't be sure. He slowly opened the door, peeking his head in to check things out, just in case. Garcia sat behind his desk, signing paperwork and motioning Gordon in with his free hand.

 

“Take a seat, Gordon,” Garcia said, looking up only briefly from his papers. “ Just let me finish this last form.”

 

Gordon sat down in one of the chairs across the desk from the mayor and stared out the huge window overlooking the city, a sight which never ceased to amaze him. He had been offered an office at City Hall, and though he was tempted by the great views it offered, he refused, knowing his place was among those he'd worked with for so many years. The title of Commissioner didn't mean too much to him, just more responsibilities in a job he already loved, plus more paperwork. He really could have done without the paperwork.

 

Another tap at the door; the mayor grumbled another “come in”, signing his name to the last paper, and setting it aside. Bruce entered the room and shut the door behind him before taking a seat next to Gordon. He offered him a smug smile before turning his attention to the mayor.

 

“It's been five days since the last murder. What have you found out?” Garcia asked, leaning back in his chair and casually flipping a pen between his fingers. Gordon glanced over at Bruce, who was sitting with his elbows on the chair arms, hands together, fingers peaked. His face was emotionless, the expression he often held in front of the mayor – set to intimidate but not to cross any lines. Gordon assumed it worked; so far the mayor had no qualms with the billionaire,at least none that he mentioned. Bruce tipped his head to the side and looked at Gordon, as though to see if he wanted to answer the question, or if he needed Bruce to step in. Gordon took the hint.

 

“We still don't have a lot to go off of. No witnesses, no finger prints, no DNA to be found. Scene was completely clean, as usual. The killer covers his tracks pretty well,” Gordon stated, folding his hands in his lap, gaze set intently on mayor. The mayor looked him over, still flipping the pen between his fingers, pursing his lips in thought.

 

“What about leads? Patterns?” The mayor liked to act like he knew everything about the workings of the police, which annoyed Gordon a lot of the time; but he knew the man meant well, just trying to keep in touch with the city and not seem so oblivious.

 

“Holidays, but besides that, nothing points in one general direction,” Gordon replied, keeping his tone neutral Bruce shifted beside him, clearing his throat.

 

“I know the Commissioner has brought this up before, but all of the victims have been part of justice system. I believe that's the right track to follow, but I think we're missing a link. There must be a case those three were on that connects them together. From there, I believe we could find the next potential victim.”

 

Garcia leaned forward, hand son his desk now, staring at Bruce with a bit of amazement on his face. “And the holidays?”

 

“The killer obviously picks major holidays. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's... the rest of January has none. Potentially, we could be looking at Valentine's Day,” Bruce explained, the serious expression never leaving his face. Gordon knew Bruce was really trying to prove that he was a professional, that he knew this job inside and out and could probably do it better than any of the cops or detectives on the force. There was a need there, Gordon knew, for Bruce to be accepted, approved of, maybe even genuinely liked for who he was.

 

“Little over a month, then, to figure out the next victim. What about places?” Garcia asked.

 

“Let's hope we don't have to figure out a place, yet. Valentine's Day... the choices are limitless. Have to be somewhere out of the way, unpopular maybe, but related. I'll start looking into it.” Bruce kept his jaw strong, his face showing no emotion, much as he did when he had the cowl on. Gordon supposed the mayor just had that effect on people, knowing that he also kept his own facial expressions pretty dull.

 

“Great. Keep me posted on this,” Garcia said to Bruce, before turning his attention to Gordon. “How Selina Kyle working out?” Gordon wanted to be honest, tell him that they were suspicious of her due to the bust on New Year's Eve, and how it was all her information that had lead them astray, but at the same time there was no hard evidence to back him up. Bruce would find something out, though, hopefully soon.

 

“She's pulling her weight, for now,” Gordon said plainly. Bruce looked at him, almost as if he wanted to tell Garcia about the issue, but he saw the reluctant look on Gordon's face kept his mouth shut.

 

“Good. Good,” Garcia said, trailing off for a moment. “I don't think I have anything else, gentlemen. Anything you two need to mention?” Gordon and Bruce both shook their heads at the same time. “Alright, until next week, then.”

 

They all stood, exchanging handshakes, Gordon walking towards the door, Bruce not far behind. They reached the elevator and slid into the car, waiting for the doors to shut before either one of them deemed it safe to talk.

 

“You didn't mention Selina's mishap.” It wasn't a question but a statement. Bruce was giving him a quizzical look, which Gordon often thought was quite an adorable expression, especially when it was genuine and not part of the facade.

 

“Didn't think it was right, not yet.” Gordon sighed, hitting the first floor button. “Find out anything new about her?”

 

“We've only gone out twice. Hardly grounds for asking the personal background questions. She'd begin to suspect.”

 

“What _do_ you know?”

 

“She was born in Gotham – well, as far as she knows. She says she was adopted. She moved to New York just out of high school, and went to the police academy there,” Bruce said, stepping out of the elevator, Gordon just behind him. Gordon didn't know what to think; he'd looked over her files, and there was nothing about her being adopted. Not that it was something most people listed on their applications, or even listed in background checks. But it was a curious bit of information he might want later on.

 

“Adopted? That's something to look into.”

 

“Why?” Bruce almost sounded accusing, protective even. This made Gordon a little uneasy and he glanced at Bruce out of the corner of his eye.

 

“Why not? The more we know about her, the better we know what she's got hiding up her sleeve,” Gordon said as he walked out the lobby door, and down the steps. Bruce only a step behind him, stumbled at Gordon's remark.

 

“What if she isn't hiding anything?” Bruce asked as they stepped down onto the side walk, taking strides towards the parking garage. Gordon caught his arm, stopping them both in their tracks.

 

“Bruce, I've been doing this for over twenty-five years, I know when someone is lying to me, and  she is  _ not _ being entirely honest or open with us,” Gordon replied, watching Bruce's face for some kind of light to click on in the man's eyes to indicate that he understood what Gordon was saying, where he was coming from. But Bruce just looked at him suddenly a little confused, shaking his head.

 

“We've all been known to be wrong, Jim.” Bruce pulled his arm away, taking up a quick pace towards the garage again. Gordon rolled his eyes in annoyance as he followed after him.

 

“I'm not wrong. I know I'm not wrong. Why can't you trust me on this?” They reached the front of the garage, and Bruce stopped, spinning on his heels to meet face-to-face with Gordon.

 

“I think you want Selina to be corrupt. You're very jealous, Jim. I let it go once, but this is getting way out of hand. You can't just push accusations on one of your detectives to get them removed from the force every time someone invades your space. You say you trust me, but yet you're threatened by some girl taking me away, as if I could drop everything  _ we _ have for something  _ I _ don't even feel for her.”

 

Gordon put his hands on his hips, a guarded position that always made him feel a little more in control when someone was up in his face as Bruce was now. He didn't know whether to be angry or sad; Bruce had a point, yet at the same time he knew that he was right about Selina. There was something amiss with her, something dangerously wrong, and it had nothing to do with his jealous fit the other week concerning her and Bruce; he had long since gotten over that. What concerned him the most right now was the sudden change in mood, again, from Bruce. It was happening more frequently, most often a day or so after the Arkham sessions. Whatever drugs they were giving him had to be affecting his brain, especially with chemicals he didn't even need since the diagnosis was all wrong. Gordon sighed; there was only so much he could do, so much he was allowed to do, to help Bruce Wayne. The rest was up to the man himself.

 

He couldn't be angry, not when he knew Bruce was; it wouldn't end well if they both walked away angry. He touched the younger man's shoulder gently, with his fingertips only at first – testing. When Bruce didn't flinch he placed his whole hand on his shoulder, leaning in towards him, head titled just so, rubbing his lips against Bruce's, another test. Usually, Gordon would care who was watching, who might see, but lately he found it didn't matter so much; some day people would find out anyway. The thrill of it pushed to go farther and he found his hands wrapped up in Bruce's hair, dragging his face closer to his own, until their lips meshed together in a tangle of lust. Gordon dropped his hands to Bruce's face, pulling away and gazing into his eyes, rubbing his thumbs softly across the his prominent jaw line.

 

“Trust me.”

 


	10. Chapter Ten

 

 

**Friday, February 13 –Day Before Valentine's Day**

 

 

 

 

At least the snow season had started to die down a little; there were still remnants of the last storm, piles of slushed, dirty snow, snowmen melting on street corners... A part of Jim Gordon thought he'd miss it, but another part knew it was a relief. Spring would come to the city quicker than he expected, bringing with it warmer days, trees blooming, and, best of all, a lull in criminal activity, at least until summer started. But he had a lot of time until he had to worry about that. Hopefully the snow was over until next winter. There was always the off-chance of one last big snow storm right before spring swung into full effect.

 

Somehow, Gordon had been able to get through half the winter with a car that kept dying, hitching rides from Bruce or Stephens and taking the bus on very rare occasions. He decided that after spending more than two thousand dollars on fixing a car worth only five hundred, it was fine to just bite the bullet and buy a new car. Well, maybe a new _used_ car. He had asked Bruce to come along to help him decide on the best car, since he seemed to know quite a bit more than Gordon did, and could help him find the better deal. He just secretly hoped that Bruce didn't try to talk him into a fancy new car he knew Gordon couldn't afford, then offer to buy it for him. The playboy was always trying those tricks on him, especially since he started having car troubles.

 

Aside from Bruce attempting to haggle down the prices on all the used cars, Gordon thought the process went well. The salesman did attempt to get Gordon to buy a brand new Lexus, his argument being that the police commissioner of Gotham City needed a ride that showed the power he had. Bruce had laughed at this, and just as Gordon had assumed he would, offered to help him buy it. After he refused, the salesman showed Gordon their wonderful selection of used vehicles, from which he picked a gray Volvo, a couple years old with very few miles. Bruce winced when Gordon signed his name to the paperwork.

 

“I don't wanna hear it, Bruce,” he said, taking the keys from the salesman. “I don't need a fancy sports car or a luxury vehicle to get me around town. People gawk at me enough when I'm with you. I don't need a car to attract more attention.”

 

“You could have at least bought something new, though. Used cars are not known for being in the best condition.”

 

Gordon narrowed his eyes at the younger man, walking out of the sales office, stopping in front of his new-to-him car. “It's a Volvo. These things last for _years._ ”

 

Bruce sighed from beside him, shaking his head. “Wasn't your last car a Volvo?”

 

“No. It was a Volkswagen.”

 

“Aren't they he same?” Bruce asked, a confused look on his face. Gordon knew better than to play into this act; it was the dense playboy facade that Bruce put on when he wanted to be funny, only Gordon didn't find it all that funny half the time.

 

“No,” He said plainly, walking over to the driver's side of the car, opening the door to get in. “I'll meet you back at the MCU.” He offered Bruce a wave, which only got him a slight nod in return. He knew he wouldn't see him for another two hours or so, since there was at least another hour of daylight left. He slid into the driver's seat and turned the key. Hearing the sound of a well-maintained machine that was actually his, and running, made him very happy; no more bumming rides off Bruce or Stephens and getting suckered into doing things (like going to bars or fancy restaurants) he normally would not do. He had his freedom back.

 

\-------

 

It wasn't their usual night to meet, but since Valentine's Day was tomorrow, Gordon decided it was best to hold one more meeting to brief everyone on what was going to happen. Well, what _might_ happen. They still weren't sure what to expect; nothing had turned up in terms of leads to locations – or victims, for that matter. They were pretty sure the holiday was spot on. Bruce had mentioned he that had some ideas to run past Gordon about possible victims, but Gordon told him to hold them until tonight, even though Bruce seemed a little reluctant to wait.

 

Usually Gordon had the batsignal blaring into the night sky, but he didn't feel the need tonight; it was just on for show anyway, keeping the criminals away with the knowledge that Batman was back out on the streets after a year's absence. It helped – not much, maybe, but it did cut down on the small-time crimes. Tonight, he stood next to the signal, waiting. Stephens' was puffing on a cigarette, something Gordon wished he'd never quit doing, since he could use the stress relief these days. Selina stood, grim-faced, arms folded over her chest. Bruce had gone on countless dates with her, but she was pretty smart about the information she divulged and kept a lot of things to herself; Bruce didn't know any more about her than Gordon did. But her secrecy in it self made Gordon more wary. Bruce was finally starting to see through her, noticing she lied about a lot, or at least didn't tell the whole truth, and eventually apologized to Gordon for not trusting him in the first place.

 

“Quiet night,” growled a voice from beside him, low enough that only he could hear it. Gordon turned his head, watching Batman walk slowly out of the shadow; sometimes he thought maybe Bruce enjoyed being theatrical, sneaking up and scaring people. He didn't doubt it; Bruce put on an act most of the time, day and night. It was rare, and wonderful, when Gordon got to see the real side of Bruce Wayne, the side that no else did.

 

“Very,” Gordon agreed. Selina shifted closer to them. Gordon had started noticing a few weeks ago that Selina had started developing an obsessive interest in Batman, always asking questions about him – how long had Gordon known him, where did he come from, who is he really – all things that Gordon ignored repeatedly. Stephens threw down his cigarette butt, stepping up to the group.

 

“What's the plan for tomorrow?” Selina asked, her tone sounding a little irritated.

 

“We compiled a list of hotels and restaurants that are not very popular. You and Stephens get the job of going to each of them tomorrow and checking out their guest and reservation lists for the evening. Batman will be watching a few people who might be targeted next --”

 

“Commissioner, about that,” Batman started, gently easing his way through Gordon's spiel. “I think you need to stay low tomorrow.”

 

Gordon glared at Batman from the corner of his eye, arms folded over his chest.“You can't possibly be suggesting that I could be the killer's next target.”

 

“I have reason to believe you might be, Jim. It's not absolute, and I have no real proof to show you, but you have to trust me.” Batman had stepped a little closer to him, voice deeper, throaty. Trust seemed to be involved in every argument they had lately; why was it that both of them had issues with it? Gordon knew it was hard to completely trust someone with everything you were, and in time maybe he and Bruce could conquer it together. But could he trust him _now_?

 

“What reason?”

 

Batman stepped in closer, so only Gordon could hear him, aware that Selina and Stephens were watching them all too carefully. “Carmine Falcone's case had been handed off to DA Darin Martin and Assistant DA Laurel Messing a few months ago. Judge Hampton was also the judge newly appointed to his case. Now, Jim, who put Falcone there to begin with?”

 

Realization dawned on Gordon's face, and he rubbed at his face with his hand, smoothing out his mustache. “I did,” he whispered. He gazed into Batman's eyes, seeing Bruce's concerned look hiding behind them. “Are you sure? There is no one else?”

 

Batman shook his head. “There could be a few others, the Mayor for one, Stephens maybe.”

 

“Well, lets not jump to conclusions. We'll notify the mayor and keep Selina with Stephens tomorrow. I'll be fine.”

 

Selina poked her head in between them. “Uh, hi? Remember us, over here, part of the conversation too?” She had a smile on her face, but her wide eyes showed a lot of irritation..

 

“Sorry, sorry.” Gordon raised his voice an octave so the other two could hear him. “Batman has just informed me that the next victim could be the mayor,” he said, and when Batman glared at him, Gordon rolled his eyes just enough to show Bruce he hated playing this game. “Or Stephens, or myself.”

 

Stephens stepped in, waving his arms defensively. “Wait! When did I become a potential anything?”

 

“It's in relation to the Carmine Falcone case. There is some reason to believe that he is whats connecting these murders.” Gordon said. A realization sudden popped into his head – Alberto Falcone. He had been in town during all the murders so far, coming into town just in time for them to happen and then leaving again when there was a bit of a lull. It might be a little far-fetched, but it was definitely worth looking into now. He needed the proof; without it there was nothing but a lost cause, here.

 

Stephens sighed.“I'm more than capable of taking care of myself. I'm more worried about the mayor or even you, Gordon.”

 

“I'm not worried about me,” Gordon growled. He was tired of everyone assuming he couldn't defend himself. Sure one time he'd been caught off guard by the Joker's psycho girlfriend, but one time did not beat out a twenty-five year track record of not being seriously injured. “I want you to go down to City Hall tomorrow and up the security for the mayor. Tell him it's just a precaution.”

 

“You're the boss,” Stephens said. “Anything else? Or can I go home and enjoy a night with my wife for once?”

 

“Go,” Gordon waved him off. “You too, Detective Kyle; you're to continue your investigation tomorrow without Lt. Stephens. You can go.” He nodded at her, gesturing for the stairwell. Selina nodded as well, looking back at Batman, who kept his eyes off of her, staring out into the night.

 

“Yes, commissioner.” Selina left down the staircase back to the main offices.

 

Gordon turned to Batman. “I don't think I'm the one we have to worry about, Bruce. The mayor seems a more likely target. The killer seems to be picking the victims based on status.”

 

“If you haven't noticed, Jim, you're pretty high status these days. 'Commissioner of police' is a pretty big title.” Bruce had dropped the rasp, concern in his voice.

 

“I know that.” He was growing annoyed with Bruce, the last thing he really wanted right now. “I can take care of myself. I have that new cell phone tracker you gave me last week, I'm sure if I get into any trouble, I can figure out how to use it.”

 

Bruce spread his hands out in front of him, an attempt, Gordon noticed, to calm him. “Jim...”

 

“What would you have me do? I can't just sit at home and do nothing. This could make or break this case.”

 

Bruce had crossed his arms over his chest; the image would have been daunting if Gordon didn't know the man behind the mask. “Fine,” it was forced, and unsure sounding. Gordon knew it took everything in Bruce to say the words, to not worry, to not force his opinion further; they were too much a-like in so many ways.

 

“Bruce...”

 

Batman put a hand up between them, almost as if he wanted to push Gordon away. “I said it was fine. Just promise me you won't do anything crazy.”

 

“When have I ever done anything crazy?”  


	11. Chapter Eleven

 

 

**Saturday, February 14: Valentine's Day**

 

 

 

The couch in the break room was a little lumpy, a few inches too short, and generally uncomfortable. Gordon had fallen asleep sometime late last night, after having finished his annual budget report for the mayor. It wasn't what he had wanted to do, but he had put it off for a week, and soon the mayor was going to start calling to ask for it. He rolled from his side to his back, opening his eyes to find the blurry face of Bruce Wayne staring down at him from behind the arm of the couch. Gordon rubbed his eyes, not really sure where he had put his glasses. Bruce bent over, gently placing the glasses on his face.

 

“Thanks,” Gordon said grumbling and swinging his legs over the side of the couch, sitting straight up. He reached up to straighten his hair, stopping when Bruce smirked at him. “What you are doing here so early?”

 

Bruce glanced down at his watch. “Not that early, Jim.” He walked around to the front of the couch, plopping down next to Gordon, arms stretched out over the top, one leg crossed over the other. “And maybe I just wanted to see you.”

 

“Just wanted to see me?” Gordon questioned, suspiciously. It was Saturday; Bruce was never up this early on weekends unless he had to be. “This doesn't have to do with you being worried or trying to keep an eye on me, does it?”

 

“Not at all.” Bruce scrunched up his face, looking hurt by Gordon's words. “What's wrong with just wanting to see you?” Oh, he was going to play  _ that _ card, was he? The 'let's make Jim feel bad for suspecting something that's probably true anyway' card. Gordon gave him a stern gaze over the top of his glasses.

 

“We'll see each other tonight. You didn't have to get up at --” Gordon glanced at his watch “-- nine to come see me just because.” He knew it sounded as though he thought Bruce was acting possessive or needy, but in reality he didn't mind it at all; the feeling of being wanted – needed – was one of the best feelings he could imagine, and one he hadn't felt for years with Barbara. No, he didn't mind at all.

 

Bruce shrugged, one hand creeping nearer to Gordon's shoulder from the back of the couch, fingers barely touching him. They had to be careful around MCU; some people were already beginning to ask questions, even though they denied it categorically . Some days, Gordon just wanted to scream it out loud, so he could just enjoy that one moment where they didn't feel as though they were constantly hiding. He slumped over, elbows on his knees, head in hands, scratching at his scalp.

 

“Tonight's going to be busy,” Bruce stated, “there won't be time for us.”

 

Of course, Gordon knew Bruce was right; if the night was going to go as they thought it would, there would be little time for anything, let alone time for them. “Right,” was his only answer. A part of him almost wished he dreamed up the last few months, the murders, the case, everything. They had been through so much worse with the Joker over a year ago; at least no one was being blown up, there were no threats to innocent children, no boats being hijacked and rigged with explosives; and despite the current murders, this year had turned out to be a bit tamer (aside from the month long reign of riddles from Edward Nygma).

 

“After tonight, this will all be over.” Bruce rested a hand on Gordon's shoulder, the most he'd allow himself out in open; Gordon found himself wishing they were somewhere more private, to at least enjoy a portion of Valentine's Day with each other.

 

“We don't know that. We don't have any hard facts or leads that tell us we're even close to being on the right track.” Gordon stood, frustration boiling through him, and began pacing the floor, hands on his hips. He wanted so badly to catch this murderer, throw him behind bars for life, and never look back on the case again.

 

Bruce quickly stood. He grabbed Gordon by the shoulders, holding him in one place, looking straight into his eyes sternly. “We're on the right track, Jim.” Were they really? Gordon kept feeling as if maybe he was missing some aspect of the case, the once piece they needed just out of their reach.

 

“How can you be so sure?” Gordon asked, gazing back into his eyes carefully. He often wondered how it was that Bruce knew things – found out things – he didn't know. There was a lot about Bruce's life that Gordon hadn't sat down to talk to him about, hadn't bothered to question; it never seemed important or relevant when they lived in the moment, or just a few paces ahead. Next chance he had, he was getting some answers.

 

“I have my ways of getting information.” Bruce dropped his hands to his sides, an officer having entering the room, headed for the microwave. Gordon looked at Bruce. He knew all about Bruce's ways.

 

“Are these ways of your's ones I wouldn't agree with?” he asked, glancing over at the officer who was pretending not to notice the two of them standing there. Gordon motioned over to the opposite side of the room, Bruce following right beside him.

 

“Quite possibly, yes,” Bruce answered slowly, biting at his lower lip.

 

“Bruce...” It was more of a warning. He didn't often agree with Bruce's methods; not many did. Then again, not many had the physical training required to do a lot of what Bruce did.

 

“Jim...” The younger man's tone was innocent, his eyes sparkling in the sunlight, a small grin present on his lips. Bruce was too good at this game.

 

Gordon shook his head; some days he wished he didn't know that Bruce Wayne was Batman. Some days it would be easier not to know that Bruce was out there, ending trouble with more trouble, using brute force to beat the answers out of those who might know _something_. Some days he wished he could do the same. That would be the day he failed Gotham. He had his own ways to bring Gotham back to what it once was. That was where he and Bruce were so different.

 

“How about some breakfast?” Bruce asked finally, ushering Gordon towards the door. Gordon grabbed his jacket off the coat rack, sliding it on over his shoulders.

 

“No time,” Gordon said, with a shake of his head, “but I could use some coffee.”

 

\-------

  
Gordon had decided that since he had put Stephens on guard duty for the mayor, he would personally help Selina research all of the restaurants and hotels they suspected: many were motels, most sitting on the outskirts of Gotham City or down in the Narrows. None of them had many reservations, just a couple here and there, mostly prostitutes reserving their rooms for the night. Nothing unusual, nothing suspicious. Nothing at all. He began to wonder if the killer would even come out to play tonight, if Valentine's Day had been the right prediction. It had to be, unless the killer was done; but Gordon had a feeling the killer had a few more up his sleeve.

 

Selina was checking out the small restaurants; she had yet to report anything back to him. Gordon was considering this her last test before he really began to investigate her. If they missed the mark again and it had been a spot Selina had checked out, he would know beyond a doubt that she was leading them astray. So far, it was more coincidental than anything else. He hoped for her sake that she wasn't involved. It was one thing to be paid off by the mob, as with Anna Ramirez, but it's completely different to be covering up for and thus aiding a serial killer.

 

Walking out of the last trashy motel in the Narrows, Gordon peeled off his jacket, the late-afternoon sun beating down relentlessly. What happened to the cool winter day the weather channel had predicted? The last of the snow on the sidewalks had melted off into puddles that were barely visible now. _Damn global warming_ , Gordon thought; he was pretty sure it was the cause of most of this unpredictable weather. He guessed that tomorrow it would probably snow again, leaving him even more bewildered than before. His phone started to jingle in his pants pocket. He fished for it, not remembering at first which pocket he had placed it in. Finding it, he hit the accept key.

 

“Gordon.”

 

“Checked the restaurants on our list, nothing. Even made a couple extra stops at the some of the not-so-trashy hotels; there's one that could be worth looking into further. A 'Thomas Elliot' is booked to stay there. I don't know if it's connected to the case, but I remember Stephens talking about the Elliot case a few weeks ago. You never know.” Selina sounded a little rushed, out of breath, even. Gordon wondered if everything was alright, but didn't ask, since knew her response would have been indifferent or even rude.

 

“Which hotel?”  _ Thomas Elliot? _ Gordon hadn't thought about that name in well over a month. It seemed so long ago now, yet the repercussions of the incident could still be felt. The last thing Gordon, or Bruce, needed was for Elliot to be back in their lives. Related to the case or not, Gordon was going to check it out and, if he was lucky, take Elliot in once and for all.

 

“Starlight Royal. Commissioner, I'd be more comfortable if you allowed me to go with you. Batman did say you were also a target, I'd hate for something to --”

 

Gordon cut her off quickly. “Detective, stop. I'll be fine. Continue to check out other places. Keep me posted.”

 

“Yes, sir.” She hung up. Gordon flipped his phone shut. Did he risk telling Bruce about Elliot? There was the chance that it was another Thomas Elliot; it was very slim, but a chance nonetheless. No, he didn't need to worry Bruce over this. Besides, Gordon had a score to settle with the doctor for what had happened the last time. If he could sneak up on Elliot, he might just put the bastard behind bars. First he would need to get a hold of Stephens to let him know about the situation and to tell him not to let Bruce know; the last thing the billionaire needed was to worry about Gordon and a childhood friend who wanted to make his life a living hell, or, better yet, to kill him.

 

Gordon flipped the phone open again, scrolling through the numbers until he found Stephens', and hit the call button. “Stephens,” came the man's voice on the other end.

 

“How's security at City Hall?”

 

“It's tight. The mayor seems a little annoyed, but when I told him Batman insisted on it, he let it slide. I don't think his wife is too happy about him being holed up in here on Valentine's Day,” Stephens said, sounding a little tired.

 

“Better safe than sorry. I'm sure she would rather her husband stayed alive for another Valentine's Day,” Gordon said, sighing, pacing the side walk near his car. “I'm headed to East Garrison to look into a lead. But do me a favor and don't mention it to Wayne.”

 

There was a hesitation from the man on the other end, then what sounded to Gordon like a groan with annoyance. Gordon knew how Stephens felt about keeping anything from Bruce; the playboy had a way of getting what he wanted out of people, either through his charms or by way of intimidation. Neither were methods that Stephens liked, especially when they were used on him. “Why am I not allowed to tell Wayne?”

 

“It's regarding Thomas Elliot. His name has shown up on the reservation list of one of the hotels under observation. There could be a chance that he's behind this. Given his past experiences with Elliot, I don't think that Wayne should know. At least not right away,” Gordon explained. He didn't need Bruce to know, to drop what he was doing, to abandon his duty in keeping the mayor and Stephens safe. Bruce had a very one-track mind, and Gordon didn't need it to be on him right now.

 

“Right,” Stephens said rather skeptically. “So when he asks where you are, what do I tell him?”

 

“You tell him I'm still checking out hotel leads.” Which wasn't a lie, right? He was checking out leads, and he was going to a hotel. He hoped Selina kept her mouth shut about it, too.

 

“You want me to lie?” Stephens sounded even more annoyed now; Gordon knew he hated having to lie to Bruce, since he could often sense a lie and brought out even more of the charm and intimidation that Stephens hated having to deal with in the first place.

 

“It's not really lying, just giving him the half-truth.” Gordon let a little desperation into his voice, to let Stephens know he wasn't kidding around.

 

“Half-truth,” Stephens said with a sigh, as if he couldn't believe Gordon was even asking this of him. “Fine. You owe me big time, Gordon.”

 

“Thanks.” Gordon flipped the phone shut. He stared at it, digging into his pocket for the other device Bruce had given him, which was similar to a cell phone but had a tracker in it. He thought about leaving it in his car when he got to the hotel, to show Bruce that he didn't need the help, that he didn't need the security of knowing that if he pushed a button, Batman would be there. The desire to prove this was strong, but not as strong as the idea the feeling everything could go wrong, in which case he would wish he had that little device. He put it back into his pocket, searching the other pocket for his car keys. Next stop, Starlight Royal. 

 

\---------

 

The Starlight Royal Hotel was far from regal, hardly living up to its name. It was, however, much better than half of the places Gordon had checked out just hours before. This place was just classy enough to encompass the architectural features of a typical horror movie hotel, complete with creepy guests, a murky pool, and black curtains in every window. Gordon had to look twice when pulling up to the hotel, surprised by its appearance. He felt his heart race in his chest, as he pulled into a a parking space towards the back of the hotel, a discreet spot; the last thing he wanted to do was draw more attention to himself than was necessary. It was close to five; check-in for most places was a few hours ago, so if Gordon was lucky, Elliot would already be here. If he was even luckier, it would be the right Thomas Elliot, and he wouldn't make an ass of himself.

 

From under his seat he pulled out his shoulder holster, slinging it on, followed by his jacket to conceal it. He opened the car door, briefly thinking that this might be a bad idea. Something in the back of his brain was telling him to stop and think about it. Was he doing this for Bruce? Did he actually suspect Elliot of being the Holiday Killer? Or was he doing this to redeem himself for Elliot's attempted to kill him? At that moment, Gordon knew that he had to do this for all those reasons. Stepping out of the car, he pulled out his phone and switched it to silent; no use in giving himself away at the least opportune time. He gently closed the car door, walking towards the front lobby.

 

The sound of the gravel parking lot under his feat was almost deafening against the quiet of the hotel. It was too quiet. He kept his guard up, hand ready to pull his gun; he could feel eyes on him – maybe just innocent patrons of the hotel, maybe not. He couldn't actually see anyone when he took a quick glance around. The curtains were shut in all the rooms, blinds drawn down in the manager's office as he approached the lobby. He pulled the door open, sliding through, badge out and ready. The clerk at the desk was a young, red haired kid, no more than eighteen. He looked up at Gordon, obviously unaware as to who he was, placing down his magazine on the counter; it must have been a slow day.

 

“Can I help you, sir?” the kid asked. Gordon placed his police badge on the counter, glancing at him over the top of his glasses, giving him a few second to see that it was real. The kid looked at him, with a note of surprise in his eyes, as if he didn't know what to do.

 

“I'm looking for the room of a Thomas Elliot.”

 

“We can't give out guest information, officer. It's against hotel policy --” The kid stopped, turning his head towards the office behind him. A man emerged, his narrow, dark eyes heavily set on Gordon, as if he was trying to burn a hole through his head.

 

“You can give it to him, Greg. He's the police after all.” The man offered a smile; it was cold and awkward, making Gordon feel a little more than uneasy.

 

“Um, y-yes, sir.” The kid typed in a few things on the computer, which could easily have been older than he was. “Room 219. First building behind us, second floor.”

 

“Thank you.” Gordon nodded his thanks to the kid, another to the manager, who now had his arms crossed over his chest, and was watching him even more intently. There was something wrong here, something unusual, a little too... easy. A cold knot formed in Gordon's stomach as he walked out the back of the lobby. Following the kids directions. He walked past the pool, where a few sun-bathing bikini-clad girls, stopped what they were doing and watched Gordon glide by without even a second look towards them. In his younger, less confused days, Gordon might have had that second look, but since Barbara, he'd never so much as looked at another woman; since Bruce he never even thought about women at all.

 

He climbed the stairs, slowly, awkwardly, adjusting his glasses. He could feel his heart pick up pace, pounding relentlessly against his ribcage; adrenalin started flowing through his veins, making the moments before he reached the door of 219 almost a complete blur, a dream. Did he knock, or did he kick in the door? If he was wrong, if this was not the Thomas Elliot he was looking for, he could make a big mistake and risk charges of assault. If he was right, he'd have the man right where he wanted him.  _ Unless he knows you're coming, Jim. _ That was an all-too-true thought, and Gordon hadn't given it much consideration at all. No, there was no time for that, no time for backing down now. He stood to the side of the door, and rapped on it twice, waiting for an answer. He knocked again. Still nothing. 

 

Gordon reached out towards the door knob, twisting it, surprised to see it was open and unlocked. He twisted it further, swinging the door open. He peeked his head around the jamb, pulling his gun from the shoulder holster, flipping the safety off. The room was dark, bed made, television on, humming lowly with the sound down. Gordon kicked the door further to the side to be sure no one was lurking behind it. Nothing. Gun pointed in front of him, he put his back against the wall, scooting along until he reached the bed, peeking his head around the corner to the bathroom, seeing nothing but an open door, lights off. He carefully got down on his knees. Chest to the floor, he lifted the bed covers. Again, nothing. He dropped the covers, lifting himself back to a sitting position, only to find a silver hand gun pointed directly at his face. He raised his own gun, but found it quickly taken out of his hand.  _ What a very wrong move to have made, Jim; you let your guard down. _

 

“Well, Commissioner Gordon. We meet again.” Doctor Thomas Elliot glared down at him, motioning for him to stand and using his free hand to pull on his arm. Gordon did, not attempting to be hostile with the man – at least – not yet. He needed to get the upper hand, first. “I believe the last time I saw you, Jimmy, you were strapped to some gasoline barrels, about to be blown to bits. Now how did you ever seem to get out of that situation?”

 

Gordon held his gaze on the cold, blue eyes of the man in front of him, but kept his words to himself. Elliot pushed him down, on to the bed, gun still pointed at his face, unfaltering. “Nothing to say, Gordon?” Elliot shrugged. “Fine. I know Bruce got you out of there. Somehow. Risking his own sanity for it. So noble of him, wouldn't you say? Risking his own identity, his freedom, to save a close  _ friend _ .

 

“No matter,” Elliot snarled. “Soon, you'll be dead once and for all. And then, I'll be able to take care of dear Brucie.” Gordon knew what was coming next but couldn't defend himself from it given the situation; the hilt of the gun smacked the back of his skull, darkness clouded his eyes, and his last thoughts were Bruce's words sounding in his mind;  _ don't do anything crazy. _

 

\--------

 

Gordon groaned, attempting to bring his hands to his head and finding that he couldn't; they were bound behind his back by what felt like handcuffs, most likely his own. In any other situation he might have thought Bruce was behind it, but this definitely was not the playboy's doing. He pulled on the cuffs, testing. Sometimes a person who didn't use them regularly could put them on wrong, or not tight enough; that was not the case this time. Gordon rolled from his side to his back, hands under him uncomfortably. He looked around the room; the television was still on, volume down, only the hum of electricity radiating from it. He was still on the bed, in the same hotel room, but Elliot wasn't anywhere to be seen, not that he could see much with just the dim glow of the television.

 

A light clicked on in the corner of the room, highlighting a chair and the woman in it, one arm over the side with her head resting on it, legs curled up. She stared at him, unmoving, her hand still on the chain of the lamp above her. Gordon noticed that the woman was in costume, a black leather one-piece cat-suit – quite literally, too – with an attached cowl much like Bruce's, ears and all. She let go of chain, revealing long claws attached to her gloves, then rested her hand on her hip. Her gaze remained steady, unmoving, her expression still and blank. Gordon wasn't sure what to think. Elliot didn't always work alone; he usually hired people to do his dirty work, leaving only the best parts for himself. But if the doctor was the Holiday Killer, had he been using pawns this whole time? And what connection did he have with the other victims? None of it was making sense. There was no way he was the killer. Unless this woman was the killer? Maybe, just maybe.

 

“You look a little uncomfortable, Commissioner,” the woman said, voice sensuous and slow. “But you won't be for long.”

 

“Who are you?” Gordon asked, trying to inch his way up the headboard of the bed, attempting to get into a sitting position. The woman shrugged almost innocently, smirking at him.

 

“Oh, just a girl.” She slid her legs out of the chair, standing. She walked slowly over to the bed, hands on the covers, bending over and crawling on to the bed towards Gordon. He frowned, kicking his feet back to move him further against the headboard. “Are you afraid of a little ol' kitty cat?”

 

“No,” he said plainly. He wasn't afraid of her, but he sure didn't want to be near her, either; she was far from harmless. She looked at him with a pout on her lips, batting her eyes at him. For a split second Gordon thought he might know her, that the color of her eyes was almost distinguishable, but he shoved the thought aside, unable to place it.

 

“Well, if you're not afraid of me, you will be of him.”

 

Gordon glared at her, eyebrows furrowed, a questioning look in his eyes; “Him?”

 

She smiled, crawling up to him, straddling him. She bent her lips down to his ear. “Holiday,” she whispered softly, her lips almost grazing his ear. He shivered, trying to push her off. She placed her hands on his shoulders, digging her claws into his back. He winced; it was far more painful than he had expected, and the claws were as sharp as razors. He bit down on his lip, holding back a small agonizing groan that dared to escape his lips.

 

“Where's Elliot?” Gordon asked, trying to take his mind off the pain – her claws still dug deeply into his skin.

 

“Elliot?” she asked, confusion in her voice. “Oh, you mean Hush? He was just the decoy to get you here. He was more than happy to oblige.” So, Elliot wasn't the Holiday killer. Gordon felt the pit of his stomach ache; he had walked right into a trap. Bruce was right, Gordon  _ was _ the next target for the Holiday killer. How had he walked right into this? The temptation to catch Elliot after what he put Bruce through was more than enough, and Gordon had been caught up in it. If only he could reach his pocket for that device...

 

“I wonder how he's going to do it,” the woman said, still straddling Gordon. She had moved her hands from his shoulders, and was now running her pointy claws down his chest, popping the buttons off his shirt slowly.

 

“Who is Holiday?” Gordon asked, trying his best to ignore the intimate touch, keeping his eyes off of her, and focused on the television.

 

“That would be cheating if I told you,” she purred into his ear. There was movement at the door of the hotel room; someone walked in, wearing all black, face shadowed by the hat the person wore. The woman crawled off of Gordon, and slid down the side of the bed. “Finally here. About time.”

 

“Go fill the tub.” It was man with a deep voice, obviously trying to disguise it. Gordon noticed he had a bucket of ice in his hands. The woman complied, walking to the bathroom. Gordon heard the water running, and suddenly he knew what his demise was going to be. He hoped that Stephens didn't do what he would asked him to do, that he would break and tell Bruce where Gordon has gone.

 

The man dropped the bucket of ice by the bathroom door, walking back to the door where there was many other buckets waiting. He went back and forth five times, by Gordon's count. That was a lot of ice. He kept trying to knead his arm into his jacket, hoping to hit the button on the tracking device. He wasn't sure if he had hit it yet or not, but with any luck he had. The woman walked out of the bathroom, staring at him.

 

“Time for a bath, Jimmy,” she said, walking over to him. She pulled on his legs, slamming his head against the headboard. He groaned in pain, closing his eyes, wanting to desperately hold his head and cradle the pain away. The woman crawled on top of him, hips over his chest, a glass in one hand. “Open wide, kitty has a treat for you.” He tried to keep his mouth shut, but she pried it open, to pour a nasty liquid down his throat. He wanted to cough, not swallow, but she clamped his mouth shut with her hands until he did.

 

“Good boy.”

 

Gordon felt his head freeze and his mind go blank, his body sudden frozen; he couldn't feel anything. The woman flipped him over, unlocking the cuffs in one swift movement, as if she'd done it before. She turned him over again, taking off first his jacket, then his shirt. She didn't once look at him, didn't make eye contact. She moved down to his pants, removed them and his boxers. Gordon knew if he could have felt anything, it might have been embarrassment. But that was currently the last thing on his mind; he knew what would be coming next, a bath in ice cold water, to be left to die of hypothermia. He wouldn't feel it though, at least; he would just wait until his body shut down. If he could just close his eyes and pretend none of it was going to happen, he would, but every movement his mind wanted to make, wouldn't work. He knew he was blinking, but he couldn't even feel that.

 

“Ready,” the woman called. The man walked over, wearing a surgical mask. He picked Gordon up rather easily, carrying him into bathroom, laying him gently in the bathtub. Gordon assumed it was cold water; thankfully, just as he had suspected, he couldn't feel it. The man proceeded to dump ice into the bath, bucket after bucket after bucket, Gordon could no longer see anything but the mounds of ice. The man got down next to him, a black gloved hand on the side of the tub.

 

“Happy Valentine's Day, Commissioner.”

 


	12. Chapter Twelve

 

 

**Saturday, February 14 – Valentine's Day (Continued)**

 

 

 

 

It could have been hours, for all Gordon knew; time had come to a stand-still in his mind. Whatever that cat lady had made him drink had started to make his vision more than a little blurry, his mind completely disabled. Holiday and the woman had left, turning off the lights, leaving Gordon in complete darkness, hoping to God that he had somehow been able to activate the device. If by some chance he did get out this situation, he knew the Bruce and Stephens' 'I told you so's' would be taunting him for days, if not weeks or months. Why was he even thinking about that? He could die here and he was worrying about a little teasing he survived. _Oh, you are a piece of work, Jim._ He attempted one more time to wiggle some part of his body – anything would have been nice. But he wasn't sure if his paralysis was because of the drugs given to him or because he was slowly going numb from the freezing cold water.

 

Long moments passed, maybe just seconds, he wasn't sure anymore. His hearing had faded, probably another effect of the drugs. He thought about his kids, Bruce, even Barbara. God, he was such an idiot to get himself into this mess, to fall into such an easy trap; he really should have known better. _Should have kept your head out of your ass,_ he thought to himself, and really if he had just listened to Bruce, to Stephens, to everyone, to himself, maybe he wouldn't be there. Maybe he'd be out catching Holiday instead of becoming his next murder victim. _Oh, what a way to go, Jim. What a way to go._

 

The blur of his vision made it hard to see what happened next. He was aware of his body being moved, shifted, touched. He couldn't get his eyes to open further, and when he tried his lids drooped down. He knew he wasn't sleeping; he could faintly hear the hum of voices, someone saying his name, but it sounded so distant, and when he tried to respond he felt his every word choke up in his throat, and come out as terrible gurgle. He was aware that it wasn't Holiday that had returned for him – no a murderer wouldn't be calling him by his first name, nor would a murder be moving him from the spot in which he wanted him to die. He attempted one last time to open his eyes, but that was an impossible feat.

 

He finally thought he was getting better. Noises started to become more clear, there was some feeling in his skin, though mostly it was cold and sore. He couldn't find his voice, still, but he didn't need to; he could hear the hum of a car, the shifting of gears. He was able to open his eyes just barely, into slits; he was wrapped tightly in a blanket like a mummy. He could tell he was in the back seat of someone's car, someone safe at least. His mind was still terribly foggy, he couldn't think, didn't want to think. The numbness was wearing off all over, only making him feel worse than before, his body shaking from the icy bath he had just been in not more than minutes before, he was sure.

 

“Jim, if you can hear me, it's going to be fine.” The voice was familiar, strong, steady, even, but there was a hint of concern in it, maybe even a little terror. He worked the puzzle in his mind; Stephens cared but not _that_ much. It had to be Bruce. Bruce Wayne, the name lingering in his mind, he wanted to say it, to feel the words in his mouth, but his mind failed him, his tongue choked in his throat. “Jim, just relax. Don't strain. I'm taking you to the hospital.”

 

 _Oh God, the hospital_ , he thought. If there was one place he loathed to be in, especially for himself, it was the hospital. The endless hounding of nurses and doctors, the smell of disinfectant, white halls, sick people. Oh, the things he would have to go through because he was so, so stupid today. Next time, he was bringing back-up. Next time. Yes, there was going to be a next time. Jim Gordon did not fall this easily. He was at least aware, awake, sensing. He couldn't have been in that bath too long, he was cold, yes, but it was far from what someone with acute hypothermia would be feeling. Right? He honestly didn't know, but he was trying to be optimistic about it.

 

Gordon attempted to shift his gaze to Bruce, in the driver's seat of one of his many cars, opening his eyes just enough to see the blurry outline of his head a few feet away. Gordon was surprised, actually, that he hadn't come as Batman, but the warm glow of the sun through the front windows of the car put the thought out of his mind. However Bruce had found out where he was, he didn't care, and Gordon sure as hell wouldn't be mad at who-ever had told him, be it Selina or Stephens. Maybe it had been the tracking device? Why was he focusing on these little facts? He should have been resting, not worrying, and felt thankful that Bruce cared enough to go after him.

 

Gordon tried again to move his tongue. The words mostly garbled in his mouth, which was dry as sandpaper, yet wet enough that his tongue slipped all over the syllables, ruining any chance Bruce might have had to understand anything he said. What he wanted to say was “No hospitals,” but he was sure the other man didn't catch it. Bruce glanced at him, worry written on his face, shaking his head slightly.

 

“Don't try to talk. Just keep still. We're almost there.” Bruce's voice was steady, but there was the rasp of batman's undertone, which worried Gordon; he didn't need Bruce slipping in and out of Batmode, making himself suspicious. Gordon kept trying to convince his tongue to form some sort of words, anything, but his tongue felt like a dead fish in his mouth, much like after he went to the dentist for fillings.

 

Gordon felt his body grow very cold, shaking uncontrollably, convulsing in the blankets. He felt his teeth chattering, and vaguely heard Bruce mutter something to him, but he wasn't paying attention to the billionaire, just trying his hardest to keep his body under control, to stop shivering. The car had stopped, paramedics were rushing the car, but Gordon was unaware of anything that was happening. His mind was off in a daze,trying to stop thinking about everything that was happening at the moment, and then when he thought he had it, thought he had regained control, he felt his thoughts fade to a blank nothingness.

 

\------

 

**Sunday, February 15, Day After Valentine's Day:**

 

 

Dreamless sleeps were the ones that went the quickest, always leaving Gordon feeling more drained than he really was. Only this time, he didn't doubt that he was still as tired as he felt. He attempted to roll over, uncomfortable lying on his back, but he found that something was attached to his right arm. He groaned, opening his eyes though he didn't want to. He first glanced at his hand, an IV stuck into the back of it. He looked to his left to find his glasses sitting on a small bedside table. He put them on, able to see a little better now, everything a little more clear.

 

To his right Bruce was sound asleep in a chair, positioned awkwardly; head back, legs out, arms folded over his chest, mouth slightly agape, _snoring_ softly. To his left, in another chair, was Stephens, head down, chin to chest, arms similarly folded, sleeping. Gordon felt like laughing, but his throat was tight and dry, probably from whatever drug that crazy cat woman had made him take. There wasn't anything to drink nearby, and he'd hate to wake one of the two men who were fast asleep; lord knows they probably hadn't slept much that day themselves.

 

Beside him he saw the nurse call switch and he flipped it. A moment later a middle aged doctor walked in, clipboard in hand, positioning his glasses on his nose, and walking over to the bed. He took Gordon's wrist, staring at his watch, timing his heart beat by his pulse. He jotted something down on his clipboard. He then looked at Gordon, placing the clipboard down on the side table, and allowed his hands to rest at his sides. He saw Gordon eye the sink in the corner and motioned to the nurse behind him.

 

“Get the Commissioner a drink of water, please,” he said politely. He smiled at Gordon genuinely. “How are we feeling?”

 

Gordon held up a hand as he took the cup of water from the nurse, nodding his thanks. He took a few gulps, keeping the cup in his free hand. “Now? Better.” He said it a little too loudly, miscalculating how his voice would sound. Bruce stirred in his chair, moving just enough to reposition himself, but not waking.

 

“Good,” the doctor said, lowering his own tone, catching on that Gordon didn't want to wake the billionaire. “You are very lucky. Had Mr. Wayne not found you when he did you could have been in some serious danger. Luckily, I'd say you were in that ice bath ten, twenty minutes tops. Who ever put you in there obviously didn't do their homework well enough. It would have taken hours and a lot more ice for you to freeze to death. You might have come out pretty sick by the time someone found you, but alive nonetheless. What caused most of the reactions was the drug you were given. We're still working out exactly what it is.”

 

“Even the uncontrollable shivering and shaking?” Gordon asked, taking another sip of water. His mouth felt like a desert, each drop of water being soaked up as quickly as he put it there. He licked his lips impulsively, trying to get some moisture into them.

 

“That could have been the beginnings of the hypothermia, but you weren't in there long enough to cause any real damage. This drug is dangerous. Never seen anything like it.” The doctor put a hand on Gordon's shoulder. “But at least you're looking better than you were yesterday. You had a lot of people scared.” Gordon only nodded, gulping down the rest of the water, still feeling dehydrated. The nurse took the cup, walking over to refill it for him, bringing him a whole pitcher of water as well. She set them both on the table, and smiled at him softly. The doctor nodded, motioning for the nurse to follow him.

 

“I'll be making my rounds a little later. I'll check on you then.”

 

“Thanks.” Gordon grumbled, voice a little raspy still. He picked up the cup of water off the table, taking a few gulps. On the edge of his vision he saw Bruce open his eyes, wiping at them with his palms, looking around a little wide-eyed, as if he had forgotten where he was for a moment. He looked over at Gordon then, a weak smile on his face.

 

“You're up, finally,” he said, elbows perched on the arms of the chair, hands folded together, tapping his chin. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Better,” Gordon coughed out, clearing his throat. Whatever that drug was, it had to have been pretty bad, like the doctor had said. He only wished he hadn't been on the receiving end of it. Bruce watched him with curious eyes, and Gordon could almost tell what he was thinking, what he wanted to say, but he was holding his tongue. “I know you're thinking it. You may as well just come out with it.”

 

Bruce shook his head, his smile turning into a bit of a frown. “No. It's not a matter of who was right, Jim. What matters is that you're alive.” His gaze turned soft, melting through Gordon like a knife through butter. Sometimes, just when he thought he had the younger man pegged one way or another, Bruce surprised him. Had Jim been in Bruce's shoes, he'd have made the remark about being right, -- sarcastically – of course, and returned to being serious again. Just another way they were different.

 

“How'd you know where I was?” Gordon asked, sipping his water again, every time he spoke it felt like he was rolling rocks around his mouth.

 

“Well, when Lt. Stephens told me you were going to check out more leads, I knew you were up to something. Especially when Stephens wouldn't tell me where you were.” Bruce smiled, genuinely this time. “I should be honest, that tracker I gave you, it doesn't need to be activated for me to find you. The button just alerts me to the fact that you probably need help.”

 

Gordon didn't know what to think, he wanted to be angry, because it was a huge invasion of his privacy to have Bruce know where he was at all times, or even just occasionally checking up on him. But on the other hand, had it not been for that feature he would most likely have spent more time in that tub of ice water before Stephens had come looking for him. It could wait; Bruce did come to the rescue after all. Gordon sighed. It was a talk they would have to have later on, one that he knew would not end up being very pleasant. Bruce seemed to sense his hesitation, as if he could read his mind.

 

 

Bruce stood, taking the few steps to Gordon's bedside. “I won't make excuses. I'm sorry.” He reached his hand out to take Gordon's, but his eyes moved to Stephens, who was awake and now staring at them curiously. Bruce dropped his hand back to his side, sliding the other into his pocket. He nodded at Stephens, giving Gordon a weak smile. “I'm going to get some coffee. You want some?”

 

Gordon nodded, catching Stephens' eye. “That would be great, thanks.” Bruce walked out of the room. Gordon turned his head to Stephens, who had quirked an eyebrow at him, hands in his lap.

 

“So, you and Wayne, huh?” he asked, with a knowing nod towards the door through which Bruce had just left.

 

Gordon narrowed his eyes on the other man, “I don't know what you're talking about.”

 

“Yeah. Okay,” Stephens said, shifting in the chair, sitting up a little. “I didn't tell him you know.”

 

“I know.”

 

“But I will next time you decide to pull a stunt like this. You're real lucky that nothing worse happened, Jim.” Stephens said, concern written on his face, unwavering sincerity in his voice; Gordon knew he meant it. Stephens didn't use his first name unless he really needed Gordon to listen to him, a way to bring his attention.

 

“I don't make a habit of –” Gordon began but Stephens raised a hand to stop him, shaking his head.

 

“Need I remind you of the Hush incident? Or the time Nygma set up that trap for you with the riddles and you insisted it wasn't one?”

 

Gordon sighed. “Alright. I get the point. I'll start accepting the help when its offered. Will that get you and Bruce off my back?” Stephens gave him a knowing, and Gordon realized that he used Bruce's name instead of calling him 'Wayne' as he usually did around Stephens.

 

“For now.” Stephens looked past Gordon to the doorway, standing up quickly and walking towards the door, where Mayor Garcia and Bruce, two cups of coffee in hand, had just entered. Stephens shook Garcia's hand. “Mayor.”

 

“Lt. Stephens,” Garcia said, turning to Gordon, an almost fatherly look on his face, suggesting that he was far from pleased with the situation. He looked to Bruce and Stephens. “Gentlemen, would you mind excusing us for a moment?” Bruce handed Gordon a cup of coffee, nodded to the Mayor, and walked with Stephens out of the room.

 

“I know what you're going to say,” said Gordon, holding the hot coffee between both hands, feeling its warmth radiate into him. “It was not a very well-thought-out move on my part.”

 

“No it wasn't. You're the best commissioner Gotham City has seen in well over a decade. Crime is at an all-time low for the first time in twenty years. Things are starting to look up. I'd like to keep it that way for a while.” Garcia paused, as if making sure he was choosing his words wisely. “I'd like to keep you around as commissioner for a while, too.”

 

Gordon was a bit taken aback. He knew he had been the mayor's choice for commissioner when Loeb was killed, but he didn't think he was doing that great of a job. The mayor was looking him over, concerned, “Well, I'll let you get back to recovering. Keep me posted when you get out.” He patted Gordon on the arm, and left. Gordon wasn't sure what to think; he felt a little befuddled, and wondered if maybe he was still a little out of it from the drugs.

 

Bruce popped his head into the room. “Are you up to having a few guests?” Gordon opened his mouth to say no, but before he could answer, two little blond haired kids ran into the room, tackling him almost before he could get his coffee onto the side table. He gathered them both up onto the bed with him.

 

“How did you guys get here?” he asked Jimmy, who was staring at him a little wide eyed, watching all the monitors his dad was hooked up to.

 

“Mom,” he said quietly. “Are you okay, Dad?”

 

Gordon smiled at his son, giving him a little nod; “I'm fine. Still breathing aren't I?” Susan put her hand on his chest, waited a moment, and nodded at Jimmy. Gordon hugged both of them to him again, tighter this time, until Susan made a squeak and wiggled away.

 

“Did Batman save you Dad?” Jimmy asked, hopeful. Gordon wanted to tell his son yes, but he wasn't sure if the news had started reporting that Bruce Wayne had been the one to find and save him. Gordon shook his head.

 

“Afraid not, son. Mr. Wayne was the one that saved me this time,” Gordon said softly. Jimmy turned his head to the door way where Bruce was standing and talking to Barbara, obviously trying to keep her calm. Jimmy turned back to his dad, smiling.

 

“I like Bruce,” he said. Gordon had forgotten that Bruce had allowed the kids to call him by his first name, saying he hated being called Mr. Wayne by kids, that it made him feel old. Gordon returned his sons cheerful smile.

 

“Me too.”

 

 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

 

 

**Sunday, February 15 (Continued)**

 

 

 

Stephens had finally left about two hours later, said he had to take care of business down at the MCU, “things just don't take care of themselves, you know,” he said. Gordon had laughed at him, knowing all too well that nothing ever got done unless one of them was there, and obviously that person wasn't going to be Gordon this time. Selina Kyle had swung by for a visit, though she seemed more distant than usual, if that was even possible for her. She didn't ask questions, didn't even mention the incident, and Gordon felt his heart grow even more weary of her attitude. He couldn't place it, but something about her had changed since she first started at MCU, and Gordon was determined to find out what it was.

 

Bruce had convinced Barbara to pawn the kids off on Alfred, who drove them back to the Manor with promises of warm milk and cookies and perhaps a movie before he set up one of the many guest rooms for them to sleep in. Barbara was hesitant, of course, and made the excuse they had school in the morning, but Bruce had butted in, pointing that their father had just been in serious danger and was in the hospital, that them staying for one day wouldn't hurt much in terms of their education. He even offered to bring in a home-school teacher for the one day that they would be at the Manor. Barbara humbly refused the teacher, but in the end agreed that they would stay until the following evening. Gordon was impressed; if only he had been able to negotiate with Barbara the way Bruce did, they might still be married. But then he wouldn't have Bruce, and if he was completely honest with himself, he was happier with Bruce now than he had been in over ten years with Barbara.

 

Of course, the minute Bruce left the room in search of food for Gordon, who insisted on the hospital cafeteria because he didn't want Bruce to go out of his way for something extravagant, Barbara cornered him, sitting down at the edge of the hospital bed, arms folded over her chest, watching his every move, which admittedly wasn't much.

 

“You've been avoiding my phone calls since Christmas. You'd think you'd want to see your own children now and then,” she said, snidely. Gordon felt trapped; but without Bruce here he should almost have expected something like this from her.

 

“If I actually thought you'd bring them by or even allowed me to visit one Sunday, I might be willing to talk,” he said plainly, hoping that his words would break through her shell and make her realize that a lot of this was her own fault. She opened her mouth to say something, but stopped, looking as if she couldn't find the right words. “Barbara, I love those kids. If you'd allow me to take them Saturday evening through Sunday afternoon, I'd do it in a heartbeat.”

 

“You don't have the space, Jim. I've seen that cruddy little apartment you call home. It's no place for children.” At least she sounded sympathetic this time, as if he had shattered just a tiny piece of her rigid exterior.

 

“They don't have to stay at my place,” he said, voice soft so as not to sound threatening. Sooner or later it was going to come out, and it may as well have been now.

 

“And where would they stay?” she asked knowingly; obviously she knew the answer, had suspected long before now, but had not said anything.

 

“At Wayne Manor,” he said quietly, looking her straight in the eyes, watching her gaze right back at him, her eyes showing some understanding. It was all real now; he didn't have to say more, and her speculations was right.

 

“Does he at least make you happy, Jim?” Her face turned a little sad; she turned her gaze to her hands, wringing them together in an emotional tick, something he remembered she did only when she was terribly nervous. Gordon only nodded at her, unsure what words that would make this easier for her. “What does a man like Bruce Wayne have to offer you that I couldn't give you?”

 

Gordon tipped his head to the side, trying to see her eyes again, but she didn't budge, keeping her head down. “Barbara, _you_ left _me_ , remember?”

 

“You weren't there for me emotionally. You were always at the office, and when you did come home you were always too tired, even to talk.” She paused, lifting her face to look at him, she seemed on the verge of tears, her eyes red. “But just seeing you with Mr. Wayne, I can see you two have that emotional connection you and I lost long ago. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't jealous, Jim. But, I am happy for you.”

 

Gordon reached over and took her hand, squeezing it. He gave her a half smile. “I never meant to hurt you.”

 

“Oh, I know that,” she said, pulling her hand away from his and wiping at her eyes. “Somethings aren't meant to last.” She sighed heavily, looking around the room, at the machines working away, calculating Gordon's heart beat, the IV by the side of the bed dripping fluids into him. “The kids can stay with you on weekends. Since Bruce does have Alfred to help him out when you aren't there, I can assume they'll be in good hands.”

 

“You'd be right,” Gordon said with a big smile. Maybe he shouldn't have ignored her phone calls for so long; maybe he had just needed to give her the time to talk, to get out her frustrations, and most of all to let her find out the truth about Bruce and himself. He hated to see her cry, but she had been the one to leave him, and for good reasons; if she had stayed their marriage would have been terrible. They just didn't love each other anymore, not the way they had when they first met – when every smile she gave made him melt into a puddle, when everytime she laughed he couldn't help but want to kiss her. That was well over fifteen years ago, and they had been naïve, young, twitterpated, and most of all, in love. But what did they know then? They couldn't predict what would happen in Gotham; no one could have.

 

Bruce walked in carrying not one but _two_ trays from the cafeteria. “You have the choice of chicken, chicken or more chicken,” he said with a grin. Barbara looked up at him, eyes still red, a little stained with tears. Bruce gave Gordon a curious glance.

 

“Later,” he said, grabbing for one of the trays. Bruce handed it over, helping him place it on the pull around table so he could eat. He stared at it disgust; could they even call that chicken? He looked up at Bruce, who shrugged his shoulders.

 

“I did offer to go around the corner to Big City Burger, but you said this would be fine.” He bent over Gordon's food and sniffed. “Mmmmm.... smells great,” he said sarcastically. “You enjoy that. I think Barbara and I are going to step out for a bit and get some real food.”

 

\---------

 

 

Bruce drove Barbara back to the Manor, returning to the hospital just before the end of visiting hours. He tossed a brown bag onto Gordon's lap, grease stains running up the sides and the aroma of a hamburger and French fries waifing out of it. Gordon opened the top of the bag yo find a big, fat burger inside, along with a super large order of fries. He looked back to Bruce, a grin growing on his face.

 

“Where's my milk-shake?”

 

Bruce laughed, pouring water into a glass for Gordon and placing it into his hand. “You are not allowed near anything even remotely frozen.” Gordon frowned, taking the water and placing it on the table next to him. He reached inside the bag, taking out the burger; just the smell was better than eating the hospital food. Gordon took a bite. Much, much better. He closed his eyes, enjoying it; he hadn't had a burger in months, since it wasn't something Bruce normally ate, and Gordon had been told by his doctor to watch his his intake of high fat-foods. If there were times to bend the rules on diets, this was definitely one of them.

 

Bruce glanced at his watch, then back to Gordon, furtively. Gordon swallowed his bite, wiping his mustache with a free hand. “Somewhere you need to be?”

 

“Not particularly.” Bruce chewed on his lower lip, glancing above Gordon's head. Gordon turned his head to find, a clock on the wall, reading eight in the evening. He looked back to Bruce and rolled his eyes.

 

“You can go. I'm not going anywhere.” Gordon wanted to laugh at Bruce for being so protective of him, especially when he was at the now high security Gotham General.

 

“I still don't trust the guards here,” Bruce said, bending over and kissing Gordon softly on the forehead, a gesture the older man would usually give him crap for, but considering his situation thought better of it. He could get back at Bruce later for being such a softy. “I do need to go make the rounds. I'll be by later to check on you.”

 

“You're just going to walk in here later wearing a cape, cowl, and Kevlar and expect no one to notice?” If anything Gordon was amused by the thought of it, the nurses all scrambling to figure out what to do, security unsure if they should try to take the vigilante down or just let him go. He could use the laugh, almost hoping Bruce would do it, now.

 

Bruce shook his head, not giving a real answer. “I'll see you later, Jim.” He reached over, grabbing Gordon's hand and squeezing it. “And get some rest.”

 

\---------

 

 **Monday, February 16** –

 

Alfred had picked him up from the hospital early that morning; the doctor released him under the condition that he had constant care for the next day, which meant that he'd have to go stay with Bruce. So Alfred drove him to the Manor and told him to make himself at home along with the rest of his family. Gordon sat at the table over-looking the back court-yard where the children where playing tag. Alfred had just put on a fresh pot of coffee and was now drying dishes, watching the children out the window by the sink, smiling. Gordon could hear Barbara in the other room making phone calls, to the kids' school and one to her work, to call in sick for the day. And Bruce, well...

 

Bruce was out for his twice-a-weekly session at Arkham, something Gordon swore he was going to look into after he was up and running at full capacity again. There had to be a way to get Bruce out of it. Gordon didn't see a need for the playboy to be going, not when the judge who had assigned him to the sessions dead, and no one else keep the secret of Batman. Gordon had talked to Garcia about it, but he dismissed his concerns saying that Bruce needed the meetings. The reports coming back to him were inconclusive about whether Bruce would be stable if taken off the drugs they were giving him. Gordon knew Bruce was just fine without the drugs, knew he had gotten along all these years without them. So why were they making him do this now? Gordon knew it wasn't the mayor's doing; it was court-ordered, and without the court and a doctor saying Bruce was fine, or cured, or whatever they wanted to call it, he would be stuck going to those sessions for quite some time. There had to be something Gordon could do.

 

Alfred had poured a cup of coffee for Gordon, putting the cream and sugar in front of him and allowing him to doctor it which ever way he found fit. He pushed the sugar aside and added just a dash of cream. What good was coffee if it was tainted with artificial flavors? Gordon usually added the dash of milk to cool it down just a smidgen. He sipped on it, enjoying the rich flavor; he'd never get over just how much better gourmet coffee tasted than the mass-produced brands he bought for his apartment.

 

He wished Bruce would get back soon and end the awkward silence between Alfred, Barbara, the kids and himself. If it had been just him and kids, that would be one thing, but Barbara and Alfred were there with their judging eyes, watching him and wondering what he was going to do, what he was thinking; it put him on edge. The talk he'd had with Barbara, though refreshing, had still left him feeling like he was a terrible person because of everything that had happened between them. And Alfred was just being the protective parent he had always been to Bruce, but Gordon was still pretty unsure as to how the older gentlemen felt about him. Their run-ins with each other were few and far between and it was rare for them to carry on a conversation lasting longer than two minutes without Bruce being there.

 

Gordon sighed to himself; maybe he just hadn't given Alfred a chance yet. Maybe he had the man all wrong. He had helped him through the Christmas Eve party quite a bit. He didn't't realize he was staring at the poor man until Alfred glared right back at him, raising his eyebrows.

 

“Sir?” the butler questioned, wiping the inside of a mug with a dish towel. Gordon blinked, shaking his head and sipping his coffee again.

 

“Sorry. Just thinking,” Gordon replied. He glanced Alfred again over the rim of his coffee mug and the man gave him a slight smile of understanding.

 

“Jimmy reminds me quite a bit of Master Wayne when he was a boy. So full of life...” Alfred drifted off, as if memories had overwhelmed him, lazily wiping clean a china plate. “They grow up so fast.”

 

“Did you raise Bruce completely by yourself after Thomas and Martha died?” Gordon asked. He had never brought this up with Bruce – it seemed taboo, awkward even – but with Alfred, it seemed only natural; he was practically the billionaire's second father.

 

Alfred nodded. “I certainly did. And might I just say, the teenage years are the worst.” Gordon suddenly got an image of a teenaged, brooding Bruce, annoying Alfred with banter about why he didn't need to do his homework. Gordon smiled at this, amused.

 

“Trust me, I'm not looking forward to it.” He gave Alfred a teasing sort of grin. “But at least I'll be able to pawn them off on you when the time comes.” He was kidding, of course, but Alfred looked a bit befuddled, as if trying to fathom the idea.

 

“I think that is about the time I'll find myself a nice place to retire,” Alfred said with a slight smile; Gordon could tell the butler was kidding for the most part, but then again, so was he. Barbara walked into the room, turning her cell phone off, glancing between Gordon and Alfred; she didn't say word, however, as she walked past them and out the back door to the courtyard. Gordon watched her interact with Jimmy and Susan, who were going on about something. It must have been big since Jimmy was using his arms in exaggeration.

 

Gordon heard footsteps from down the hall leading to the kitchen. He turned his head to the door-way, and saw Bruce walking through, looking a little tired, ragged. Alfred must have heard him long before Gordon did, as he had a cup of coffee poured and in Bruce's hands no more than five seconds later. Bruce made an “mm” sound, nodding a thank you to Alfred, and sat next to Gordon at the table. The younger man winced as he sat down, favoring his left side just a little.

 

“What happened to you?” Gordon asked as Alfred came over to refill his cup.

 

“Checking out one of those random burglaries again last night. Apparently Fox was wrong about this suit being cat-proof.” Bruce said with annoyance, but with a smile still present on his face.

 

“Cat?” Gordon asked, the memory of the other day still lingering in his mind – the woman in the black leather cat getup, and her razor-claws. Gordon shivered; it was a moment he no longer wanted to relive, let alone physically experience ever again.

 

Bruce nodded. “The burglar used to just be masked, but now she wears a full costume. A cat costume.” Gordon felt his stomach turn. He placed his coffee on the table, no longer interested in finishing it. Bruce looked at him worriedly. “What's wrong, Jim?”

 

“This cat-woman have long, razor-sharp claws, by chance?”

 

“Yes. How did you –” Bruce didn't have to finish his question to know the answer. Gordon watched his eyes as he pieced together the puzzle. “She's Holiday?”

 

Gordon shook his head. “No. She works for – no, with him. She's dangerous, Bruce. Whoever she is.” Gordon watched as Bruce bit down on his lower lip, thinking. “I failed to mention this earlier, but Thomas Elliot was there, too”

 

Bruce turned his gaze to Gordon, eyes blazing and stern, but curious. “Elliot? There has to be some connection here. Something that brings all of them together.”

 

“I think first we need to find out who this catwoman is. By finding that out, we might be able to find Holiday. Elliot didn't seem to be working for them, if anything he was trying to rid of me to get to you.” Gordon reached out and placed a hand on Bruce's thigh.

 

“Elliot,” Bruce repeated, and it was obvious that he was replaying the events of a few months ago in his mind. “Why hasn't he come after me? He's had all this time. What's he up to?”


	14. Chapter Fourteen

 

**Thursday, February 19 – Bruce's Birthday**

 

 

 

Monday evening Barbara and the children went back home, leaving Gordon alone in the Manor with Alfred. Their conversation was far from boring, and Gordon even learned the answers to a few questions about Bruce that he had never bothered to ask the billionaire – such as his birthday. Alfred said Bruce was ignoring it this year, hadn't even mentioned it, which was unusual, as he was quite set on having a huge birthday party, part of the usual cover-up for his facade. This year he didn't seem to want to play into it, and it was sure to raise a couple eyebrows from not only the media, but from his so-called “friends” as well. But if Bruce didn't want a party, Gordon wasn't going to complain. It was now a matter of doing something for the younger man that he might actually appreciate.

 

That was three days ago, and Gordon still hadn't thought of what to do for Bruce. It would be a surprise, yes, because Bruce had never actually told him that it was his birthday. Maybe he could get by with just bringing a pizza to his place; after all Gordon didn't have the money to go all out. And a present? What did you buy a spoiled rich kid? _You don't,_ he thought to himself. Bruce wasn't into gifts. He never asked for anything, never hinted at wanting something; anything he wanted he could buy for himself. So pizza it was, unless something came up, which Gordon hoped it didn't.

 

The last two nights had been filled with more burglaries from the Catwoman; she was getting bolder, stealing not just from homes, but from office buildings, factories, and, as of last night, doctor's offices and pharmacies. Gordon had gone back over the burglary incidents from the past month and a half; nearly seventy-five percent of the them had been the homes of doctors, pharmacists, even a couple of facilitators at Arkham. He had begun to wish they had paid a little more attention to the “small time” burglaries instead of dismissing them as something unimportant. It was hard to think they could have caught this woman months ago, had her behind bars and out of the way; for all Gordon knew, what had happened to him could have been avoided. Or at least made less extreme.

 

Gordon rubbed the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger, squeezing his eyes shut; so much had happened in less than a week, changing the way the Holiday case was headed towards something much more sinister. With Thomas Elliot now caught up in the middle of it, somehow everything was made that much worse; two mad men and a crazy cat-lady loose on the streets was not easy to keep quiet, and somehow the media kept getting tipped off about each murder and crime that was committed, linking the cases together. The mayor was not pleased with the amount of attention the Holiday case was receiving, and even less pleased with the fact that the burglaries were being connected to it. Gordon wasn't sure how the press was getting their information, but he had some ideas, one of them being that someone at MCU was compromising their confidentiality information.

 

There was a tap at his door; he lifted his head, straightening his glasses. “Come in,” he called, staring again at the paperwork in front of him, untouched for at least ten minutes now, as he was too dazed, too lost in thought to concentrate on it.

 

“You wanted to see me?” It was Selina, standing hands on her hips in front of his desk. He looked up again, closing the folder in front of him. He gestured for her to take a seat. She kept her eyes on him, sliding into the chair.

 

“Yes. I had a few questions about Valentine's Day,” he said, returning the same intense glare that she was giving him. She didn't answer him, only nodded once for him to go on. “I was curious, how did you come across the Starlight Royal Hotel as a lead?” He expected her to flinch, to move, to watch her built-up, emotionless wall crumble, but he was surprised to see that she didn't even falter.

 

“Anonymous phone call. I know people on the street, Commissioner. If they find something out they let me know. I know you think it's unethical to work this way, but I think it helps in the long run.” She had folded her arms over her chest, crossed one leg over the other, eyes narrowed, her barriers up, defensive. Gordon might not have been able to break her steel wall, but he sure as hell was digging around the edges where she didn't want him.

 

“Who you talk to is none of my business, detective, but I suggest you start figuring out who is and who isn't trust-worthy amoung these 'sources' of yours.” He moved forward in his chair, elbows planted firmly on the desk in front of him, hands clasped together, glaring at her over the top of his glasses. He didn't need to see her clearly to see the fire burning behind her eyes. Her face was calm, however, despite the story her glare told.

 

“Yes, commissioner.” She set her lips in a thin line. “Anything else?” Gordon watched as a piece of her wall crumbled – a very small piece, to be sure, but it was something. He wasn't stupid, he wasn't even naïve; he knew she was somehow involved. Whether she was being paid off by Holiday or Hush, he didn't know, and for all he knew she was the Catwoman, but he had no proof. Very carefully, he was going to break her down and figure it out. He knew it would take some time, but with Bruce's help, he was sure he could reveal the truth sooner rather than later.

 

“Where were you Friday evening?” he asked, his eyes never leaving hers. She smiled a little, innocently if he could call it that.

 

“I was out with Bruce Wayne. We had a Valentine's date.” She said it smoothly, confidence returning to her voice, as if the lie were the best thing she'd come up with. Obviously it hadn't been made clear that Bruce had been the one to rescue Gordon from the hotel, or else she would have chosen her answer a little more wisely. Gordon returned her smile; he was genuinely unamused that she would make up such a thing, but at least he knew she hadn't figured out Bruce's secret identity yet.

 

“I see. Thank you for your time, detective. You can be on your way.” He open his folder, picking up a pen. Selina seemed to get the hint, standing from the chair, and walking out the door, closing it behind her. It was definitely time to crack down on her; with lies like that, Gordon was more than done playing games.

 

He put the pen back down and closed up the folder again, standing. He checked his watch. It was a little before noon, so Stephens should still be around. He opened the door, slipping out into the hall. The second floor was always pretty quiet. He started around the corner, taking the stairs to the first floor. He didn't have to look far, Stephens was walking right past him as he touched down on the last step. The other man turned with a nod in Gordon's direction.

 

“Wait,” Gordon said, quickening his steps, grabbing hold of Stephens' arm. “We need to talk. Now.” Stephen raised an eyebrow at him, curious.

 

“What's going on?” he asked suspiciously.

 

Gordon shook his head. “Not here.” He lead Stephens to the meeting room down the hall, ushering him inside. Gordon closed the door and locked it. He looked at Stephens, sternly. “We have an issue with Detective Kyle.”

 

Stephens laughed. “What, she hitting on your boyfriend or something?” Gordon glared at him, arms crossed firmly over his chest, not even cracking a smile or a frown. He was far from amused. Stephens caught on, rubbing at the back of his neck, sheepishly. “Heh, sorry. What's the issue?”

 

“She's been lying to us. She just lied to me about where she was Friday evening. Said she was with Bruce, and we both know that isn't true.” Gordon paused, checking Stephens' reaction, which was a little stunned, but not so much to indicate that he hadn't suspected as much himself. “She's involved with the Holiday case somehow.”

 

“What do you want to do about her?”

 

“Watch her. She is not to leave your sight while on duty. If she tries to pawn herself off somewhere without you, you tell her no or insist on going with her,” Gordon explained. He knew sooner or later she'd catch on that they knew, or at least suspected, but that was the general idea. He wanted her to become so uncomfortable that she fumbled, letting her guard down just enough so that he could kick a few bricks away.

 

“Alright. We can't watch her all the time, there's just no way; even with Batman following her around, he can't be around her during the day too.” Stephens sounded just a little skeptical of the plan. Gordon shook his head.

 

“I'm sure it will be more than enough for us to keep track of her at work. Just need to catch her slipping up once to prove something.”

 

\------

 

Gordon finished most of the paperwork that was on his desk by the end of the day, though there was some left to finish by tomorrow, since he knew he didn't have time. He had called Bruce earlier and asked him to meet him at his apartment at six. Bruce had started to ask if they could meet at the penthouse instead, but Gordon was able to convince him that it would be worth his while to do as he said, since they always went to the penthouse; why not change things up a little?

 

On his way home, Gordon had stopped by the hardware store down the street from his apartment, having thought of the perfect gift for Bruce. He only hoped the gift went over as well as it did in his head. It was a meaningful gift, and hopefully Bruce would see that, not just looking at the physical part of what it was. Once Gordon left the hardware store, he dropped by the pizza place on the corner he'd been meaning to try for weeks now, never finding the time when he was actually home to order anything. He knew Bruce liked Hawaiian pizza, so he ordered half that and half pepperoni, as Gordon was not a fan of pineapple.

 

When he finally reached his apartment it was ten minutes to six. He had just enough time to check his mail, get upstairs, and hopefully take a quick shower. He juggled the pizza around in his hands, unlocked his mail slot, placed his keys in his mouth so he could grab the mail, and shut it. He stumbled up the stairs, attempting to keep a hold of the mail he had placed under his arm, while simultaneously trying to find his house key. He put the key into the lock, pushing the door open, quickly making his way to the table to put the pizza down and then back tracking to pick up the pieces of mail that had fallen out from under his arm when he had opened the door.

 

He glanced at his watch – seven minutes. He was sure Bruce would be on time, too. He threw the mail on the table. He'd have to sort through it later on. He kicked off his shoes in the hall way, faintly hearing Barbara's words in the back of his mind, scolding him every time he used to do that in their home, mainly because she would trip over them. He didn't care, not now anyway. He pulled his socks off, wading them up and throwing them into his room as he passed by. By the time he reached the bathroom he had completely stripped down. He had five minutes; hopefully Bruce wasn't early.

 

Gordon made it quick; a thorough scrub, a quick hair wash, and that was it. He hopped out, wishing he had more time to shave, but it was just Bruce; would he really care if Gordon was a little scruffy around the collar? Probably not. He wrapped a towel around his waist, about to dry off completely, when he heard the door bell ring. Right on time. He scrambled out of the bathroom, down the hall and to door, opening it to see a rather surprised-looking Bruce give him the once over. Gordon grabbed his arm with his free hand and pulled him inside.

 

“I'm not sure what the occasion is –” Bruce started to say, a smooth suaveness to his voice, the tone he often used when he wanted to make it clear that he was feeling flirtatious.

 

“Shut the door,” Gordon said, cutting the other man off. He headed back down the hall towards his bedroom to finish getting dressed. “Make yourself comfortable.” He thought he heard Bruce mumble something along the lines of “Don't I always?” but wasn't sure. He dressed quickly, still tucking in his white undershirt as he walked back out into the living room, where Bruce was sitting on the back of his couch, staring at the few pictures Gordon had hung there of his kids.

 

Bruce slid stood his feet, shaking his head. He reached out and un-tucked Gordon's shirt; “You look more comfortable this way,” he said, running a hand down Gordon's chest to smooth away the wrinkles. Gordon caught the younger man's hand, digging around in his pocket with his other hand. He turned Bruce's hand palm up and gently placed a single key in it. Bruce stared down at his hand, then at Gordon and then back at his hand again. He looked as though he wasn't quite sure what to say, his mouth was twisted up in what could have been a curious grin.

 

“So help me, Gordon, this had better not be the key to your heart,” Bruce said. Sarcasm was thick in his voice, and a big grin spread across his face. Gordon was sure he knew what it was, but he was just playing it up to make the older man feel embarrassed for being sentimental.

 

Gordon closed Bruce's fist around the key. “It's a key to my apartment. Don't make me take it back.” He watched Bruce take the key and add it to his keyring, which didn't have many keys on it at all. He hoped that the key made the impact he wanted it to, that Bruce understood it meant he trusted him fully now, even after the tracking device incident, which he had decided to let go. Bruce was gazing at him, eyes soft and warm, a sincere smile pulling on his lips; oh he definitely understood.

 

“Happy birthday,” Gordon said. He threw it in there as an afterthought to the rest of the conversation. Bruce laughed, shaking his head.

 

“I should have known Alfred wouldn't keep his mouth shut.”

 

Gordon shrugged. “You don't know that Alfred told me. Maybe I looked it up.”

 

Bruce squinted at him suspiciously. “You wouldn't do that.”

 

“Wouldn't I?” Gordon retorted. Bruce shook his head, leaning towards Gordon until their lips met just briefly, for a gentle kiss.

 

“Thank you,” Bruce said softly, his voice low with just the hint of a growl behind it. Gordon shivered; that voice always made him weak in the knees, putty in Bruce's hands. Bruce placed his hands on either side of Gordon's neck, rubbing soft circles with his thumbs on his jaw. He kissed Gordon hungrily, lips smashing together, tongues rolling into each others' mouths in desperation. Gordon pulled Bruce in until there was no distance between them, until they were clinging to each other like plastic wrap, neither letting up, waiting for the other to stop or to start something different, but neither wanting anything different; they both wanted this moment.

 

Bruce moved his mouth away, kissing a trail down Gordon's jawline, nibbling gently. He breathed a sigh, sliding his hands down Gordon's chest, letting his fingers linger just at the waistband of his pants, caressing the skin on his stomach gently, returning his lips to Gordon's, pushing him up against the wall in the hallway, grinding their hips together. Gordon groaned, trying to slip out from under him, but Bruce put an arm up to keep him from moving.

 

“You're mine, tonight,” Bruce growled, pulling away from Gordon, gazing into his eyes lustfully. Gordon reached a hand into his pocket, keeping his eyes on Bruce's to keep him from watching his hands. He leaned into Bruce one more time, kissing him roughly, and while the playboy was distracted for that split second, he grabbed his wrists, pulling his lips away from the billionaire's, spinning him around until both wrists were behind his back and firmly cuffed.

 

“No. Tonight, _you're_ _mine_.”

 

 


	15. Chapter Fifteen

 

 

**Tuesday, March 10 – One Week Before Saint Patrick's Day:**

 

 

 

When everything was going well in his personal life, Gordon noticed that his work life seemed to fall down a spiraling well of despair, and if work went well then his personal life fell down that well instead. He had yet to figure out how to make everything work out evenly, so that he could stop pulling himself one way or the other, feeling split down the middle. Usually Bruce was very accommodating, helping him with work, trying to stay out of the personal stuff (even though he was half the issue). Bruce, whether he knew it or not, had started a downward spiral himself. Gordon could only describe it as a big mood swing, one that had not budged in at least two days. Gordon was trying to distance himself for a bit, to let the man have a breather, or whatever it was that he needed in order to get out of his current funk.

 

He had called Alfred the evening before, asking if there were any anniversaries, holidays, birthdays, _anything_ coming up that he needed to have a heads-up about, something that would give reason to Bruce's odd behavior. Unfortunately, Alfred said he couldn't think of anything, but did mention he had noticed a change in the man, and that it had happened so suddenly that he didn't know what had happened – much the same way Gordon himself had noticed it. He couldn't help but suspect the Arkham sessions, again. He had gone to talk to the new head facilitator at Arkham, but the man said that Bruce's file was confidential, that only the judge on the case, the doctor taking care of Bruce, and the mayor himself had access to it. And of course, the mayor was of no help, simply saying that it was out of his hands at this time, that it was up to the doctor to release Bruce from the program. _But at what cost?_ He was afraid Bruce was going to lose his sanity due to a mis-diagnosis, and he was powerless to fix it.

 

Criminal activity was low – no burglaries in the last week, no shootings=s, no deaths, and most importantly, no murders; but there hadn't been any major holidays, either. Gordon was expecting the next to be in one week, on Saint Patrick's Day. And even though he was supposed to be including Selina in the meetings, he kept everything they said to a minimum, having talked to Bruce and Stephens on the side earlier. Gordon thought for sure that Selina was catching on – suspected that he knew she was up to something – but he couldn't be sure. She kept to herself. There was no more social conversation, no more questions about his personal life, asked in an effort to try to make up for the thick silence that often radiated around them. Now, she stared at him, not saying a word unless she had to. Her briefings were usually given to her later or before the meetings by Stephens, who never left her by herself; he kept her as close as possible, keeping an eye out for anything. Selina knew, she _had_ to know, that they were watching her carefully. Probably one reason why the burglaries had ceased for the time being. Who ever she was working for, she was letting them know that GCPD was on to them, or at least hinting – she had to be. It was all too coincidental.

 

Even though the crime rates were down, there was still the matter of the Mob. For a while, no one heard from Alberto Falcone; off and on there were rumors of him being in town, but no reasons to suspect him of anything. But with those rumors came ideas, and those ideas had the people of Gotham on their toes. There was major talk now of Alberto starting up the Mob family again, putting the Falcone name back in Gotham, back in the underground, back on the market for causing trouble. Luckily, no one had seen any of the old Mob members together, or even with Alberto for that matter. Rumors were like fire in Gotham City – they spread and spread until they died out completely; it was unfortunate that Gordon didn't see this fire dying down anytime soon, if at all. Some how, he knew someone was fueling the fire, and soon it was just going to explode. That was not a day Gordon was looking forward to. Whether he could stop it or not, the Mob was slowly creeping back into Gotham, one awful soul at a time.

 

At least they hadn't heard from Thomas Elliot. Gordon was relieved, but at the same time anxious; he had a feeling the man was staying low until the time presented itself for him to advance on a golden opportunity. Gordon hoped not to give him that chance – to cut him off before he got there – but his leads on the doctor were as good as his leads on finding Holiday, and that wasn't saying much. He figured that if he could either get Selina to confess and spill the identify of the source she supposedly had contact with, or if he could find that damn Catwoman himself and get her to talk, he would be able to get to both Hush and Holiday. It was a lot of praying and hoping on his part, two things he did a lot of lately.

 

Gordon glanced at his watch; five minutes until the next rooftop meeting. He wasn't looking forward to it, with a brooding Bruce in a bat costume, a defensive Selina, and a most likely annoyed Stephens. Where did this leave Gordon? Somewhere in the middle trying to sort through all that emotional garbage that went along with working at the PD. He grabbed his jacket, slipping it on, heading out the meeting room door, rounding the corner to the stairs. He took each one slowly. His feet felt heavy today, as if weighted down. A part of him wanted so much to just go home, veg in front of the television, sleep, and forget about everything – every _one_. He sighed, closing his eyes for the brief moment it would take him to open the door leading to the roof. He stepped out into the chilly night air; the crisp wind whipping at his cheeks felt like more of relief a than an annoyance today.

 

Stephens was already there, as usual, smoking a cigarette, a cup of coffee in his free hand. He nodded to Gordon as he stepped up to the Batsignal. Gordon would have turned it on, but it felt over-used these days, especially since he had Bruce's Batsuit cell, regular cell, manor and penthouse number, not to mention all the car phone numbers in case one of the others didn't work. If all those failed, then yes, he would turn the damn signal on. There was no real point; the crime rate was so low no one would be out to see the glowing white bat in the sky. The price to power it was ridiculous as well. Stephens shot him a glance, as if knowing what he was thinking, and shrugged.

 

Two more minutes. Selina was usually early, but she was no where to be seen. Gordon looked to Stephens questioningly. “Where's Selina?”

 

Stephens shrugged again. “It's her night shift tonight, the last I saw her was yesterday afternoon when she left work to go home. I told you, I can't keep track of her once she's off duty.”

 

“I know, I know,” Gordon said, brushing off the other man's comment. “It's just unlike her to be late.” He realized after he said it just how stupid that really sounded; they didn't really know Selina Kyle at all. She kept a lot to herself, and she was quite a liar it seemed, or at least deceptive. For all he knew, it was very much in her true character to be late.

 

After ten minutes passed, Gordon sighed, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the rooftop. A few feet away Stephens had pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, blindly offering one to Gordon, as he usually did out of habit, and this time Gordon took one. It had been five years and one wasn't going to ruin him; he needed this; the stress more than enough reason. Stephens offered him a light. He didn't really want to inhale it, just wanted to taste it, remember what it felt like to just relax, forget his worries for five minutes. He let it out slowly, watching the smoke swirl in front of his eyes. Another drag. _Don't get addicted, Jim_ , he thought. It took him over six months to completely stop the first time.

 

Finally, when Gordon went to stub out the butt of the cigarette, Batman walked out of the shadows, between him and Stephens, watching Gordon with accusing eyes. Gordon didn't look him directly in the eye; he knew the look without having to see it. He stepped on the end of the cigarette, finally bringing his eyes up to meet Batman's, only to find he wasn't looking at him any longer, but behind him at Selina, who was running up the steps, hair pulled back in a braid that had started to unravel, wispy pieces fallen down the side of her face, cheeks flushed, and what looked like the start of a bruise on her shoulder. She stopped, hands on knees, catching her breath.

 

“Sorry. I'm late,” she said breathlessly. “Traffic was a bitch.” Gordon stared at her in disbelief, was she really pulling that line? Traffic from her place to MCU was a breeze at any time of day, and she lived less than five blocks away. He didn't buy it, not when she looked like hell.

 

“Glad you're here now,” Gordon said, trying to leave the accusing tone at the door, though he was finding it hard to do so. He looked back to Batman, who glared at Selina, a knowing, hard stare in his eyes. “Are _you_ with us?” Gordon asked. Batman turned his eyes to Gordon, giving him a slight nod.

 

Stephens stepped in, tossing his last cigarette to the ground. “So, Saint Patrick's Day. What do we know?”

 

“You know everything I do, Stephens.” Selina responded bitterly, a mean, forced smile on her lips. Gordon almost wanted to laugh, just because he knew it was getting to her – the constant surveillance, the constant companionship of Lt. Stephens at every turn; it would drive anyone to drink.

 

“The Mayor,” Batman growled.

 

“The Mayor?” Gordon asked. “As in he's the next target?” Batman nodded. He was very quiet tonight, and Gordon began to wonder if more than just a bad mood swing was affecting him after all. Well, he knew Batman was usually quiet, but since he found out the secret identity, Batman had seemed much more talkative.

 

“Are you sure?” Stephens asked, skeptically

 

“Positive.” Another growl, this one deeper, more throaty, possibly growing angry.

 

“Fine. I believe it. He was a possibility last time, it makes sense. Let's work on putting a group together for City Hall next week. In the mean time, let's try to figure out where the murderer might try to take his next victim.” Gordon paused, talking a little lower, so only Stephens and possibly Batman could hear him; “I'm sure he's not too happy about losing his last one.”

 

“He ain't too smart either, remember. There's a chance he'll screw up again this time, too.” Stephens said, his voice louder than Gordon would have preferred. He shot Stephens a glance, he was also letting out more information, more speculation than he wanted him to with Selina around. If she was working for or with Holiday, they didn't need her going back and tell him everything they were thinking they knew about him.

 

Selina had a frown on her face, but didn't say anything. Gordon noticed she seemed to be holding her tongue, not saying what she really wanted to say. Her arms were folded over her chest, and she was keeping her guard up.

 

“Let's not count on it. Tomorrow, start the security setup for City Hall. I don't want any surprises come next Tuesday.” Gordon put his hands in his pockets, fiddling with his keys.“Get me whatever leads you can on locations. Even if they don't seem likely. Anything helps.”

 

Gordon caught Selina out of the corner of his vision, rolling her eyes. He wanted to say something, but bit back his tongue. Stephens gave Gordon a little wave, opening the door to the stairs. Selina just stood there, staring at Batman, a lusty look in her eyes, glaring him down. Gordon didn't like it, and he liked it even less when Batman stared right back at her, unblinking. He had promised Bruce no getting jealous, especially with Selina, but he thought that those two were more friends than anything else. And then there was the fact that Selina didn't even know Bruce was Batman.

 

“Good night, Detective,” Gordon said to Selina, giving her the hint to leave. She turned her attention to Gordon, nodding, and then heading down the stairs. Gordon waited until the door had closed fully before turning his gaze back to Batman. “Why so late?”

 

“It's complicated.” Batman said. He was still using the growl; it was usually automatic for him, a part of the charade he played, bringing out that side of him.

 

“Complicated,” Gordon echoed. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, knowing he'd just left it looking a complete mess. He stared at Batman – Bruce – with an irritated frown on his face. “You're not going to tell me?”

 

“I told you. It's a little too complicated to explain right now. I have to be sure of a few things before I can just give you information I'm not even sure about.” Bruce's tone was low, but he had dropped the growl at least. He sounded annoyed, angry even. Gordon watched as he flexed his gloved hands, something he noticed the other man did when trying to control himself, especially as Batman.

 

Gordon nodded disbelievingly. “Fine, when you do figure it out you know where to find me.” He thew a hand in the air, an angry wave, as he headed towards the door to go downstairs; he was far from in the mood to deal with Bruce's attitude tonight. Gordon was more hurt than angry; their mutual trust laid on the line, and slowly he could see Bruce starting to not trusting him as much as he should have been. _What happened?_ He wanted desperately for Bruce to come after him, stop him, kiss him, tell him he was sorry and then spill everything he knew to Gordon, reclaiming that trust. His hand touched the door knob, twisting it, and he felt Bruce's eyes on him as he pulled the door open and slipped through it. His right foot hit the stairs, and he felt more disappointed than he had in years.

 

He made his way down the stairs, passing Selina on the first floor, looking as if she was headed towards the bathroom. Gordon stopped, ducking behind the wall, watching where she went. She ran past the bathroom and quickly jogged up the stairs. Curious, Gordon followed her, careful to keep his distance. She got to the roof, opening the door and disappearing through it. Gordon waited a few minutes, to be sure she wasn't coming back down, then stepped quietly up to door, cracking it open enough, hoping he might be able to see what she was doing from there. Luckily enough, he was.

 

Selina stood in front of Batman, who was staring down at her, eyes narrowed, jaw set strongly, saying something to her Gordon couldn't quite pick up. Selina started to use her hands to explain to Batman, but didn't raise her voice, though Gordon wished she would have. Batman had pointed a gloved finger in her face, and she was leaning towards him; they were exchanging some heated words, their body language showed it. Gordon was about to step back, go down stairs, aware that Batman was obviously handling the situation, whatever it was, when he saw Selina throw her arms around the dark knight's neck, kissing him passionately.

 

Gordon first reaction was scream, but he had enough training as a cop not to go with first reactions, but with first instincts. Instead, he stayed put, observing the two, expecting Batman to pull away, or push her away, throw her off and scold her for evening attempting that. But Gordon was sorely disappointed. Batman wrapped his arms tightly around Selina, pulled her nearer and returned the kiss, heated and strong; Gordon could almost taste it, knowing exactly how it felt, how Batman felt at every curve. Now he wanted to scream louder, to rush in, to be jealous. He shook his head, closing the door, and holding onto the stair railing, taking each step carefully. He didn't know exactly what to feel; anger was rising up to the top, but despair was toying with his emotions at the same time, too. He needed to go home, to bed, to sleep, to forget. He needed to wait until morning before attempting to talk to Bruce, aware that if he tried it now things would be said that he didn't mean, or maybe he would mean them, but didn't want them said. A clearer head in the morning, coffee, time to vent, to wonder, to find his words before looking the handsome playboy in the face to accuse him of cheating. _Cheating_ , Gordon thought. He hated the word, hated it more than anything. He briefly wondered if this was how Barbara felt when she claimed he cheated on her so often with Gotham City.

 

_This must be what disappointment and heartbreak feels like._

 

 


	16. Chapter Sixteen

 

 

**Tuesday, March 10 – continued**

 

 

It was the feeling of being completely lost, frozen in the moment of despair, unable to feel any emotion aside from the pain that was absurdly present. Jim Gordon felt it all, a stabbing knife to his heart, like the sharpest icicle digging deeper with each step he took. The drive home had been hard; far harder than he thought it might have been. The silent hum of the radio, the lack of conversation from the passenger seat next to him, the rain that started half way home. All just one big realization that things were slipping away from him, faster and faster. What had happened? Everything seemed to have happened so quickly, but now he realized it was so gradual that he should have seen it coming.

 

Distance, mood swings, an all-around change the in attitude of Bruce Wayne should have been a clue. Well, it had been, but Gordon always dismissed it, knowing that Bruce sometimes went through spells of moodiness that often passed with time, usually a couple of days. There was definitely something wrong, something very, very amiss with the billionaire, and Gordon couldn't quite place his finger on it. There was an obvious attraction between Bruce and Selina Kyle; the kiss had shown Gordon that much. But exactly what had prompted this, Gordon couldn't be sure. He thought that he and Bruce had a relationship that was open enough to talk about these things, to bring up anything that would hinder their feelings for each other. Usually it worked, usually they _could_ talk about anything, but the last three weeks had been hard. Bruce had started to become distant, and though Gordon would have preferred to ignore that it was happening, a part of him was very, very aware of it.

 

And yet, he couldn't help but feel as if he had been completely blindsided. He didn't want to even look at another human being. It was close to eight in the evening; most of the tenants in his apartment building were home, some likely walking through the halls, going out to dinner, or even taking their dogs out. Gordon didn't want to see the., In fact, he dreaded the moment he would have to set foot into the building and see each of their treacherous faces, staring at him accusingly, as if to say “I told you so” over and over again. He wanted to turn back to his car, hop in, and drive for days, not looking back – just leave Gotham, and his memories, behind him. How had he allowed himself to become so wrapped up in the mess that was Bruce Wayne?

 

He knew. It wasn't just a blind infatuation that lead him into the life of the playboy; it was the pure knowledge that he knew, or thought he knew, the younger man inside and out, like he knew himself. He thought he knew everything that Bruce stood for – as Batman, as the billionaire who pretended not to care, but actually cared more than he would ever admit. Gordon knew Bruce, knew him better than he probably knew himself. Something had gone terribly wrong in the last few months, something that Gordon had no control of, and he couldn't be sure if Bruce did or not. Bruce was not the same person who had presented himself that late Sunday afternoon over six months ago. That Bruce had not been present for nearly a month now, and Gordon desperately wondered what had happened to him.

 

But it didn't change the fact that Bruce was having an affair, or at least the start of one,with Selina. What was Gordon to do? He could wait for the man to come to him, ignore him until he came asking questions; or he could could be direct and honest with Bruce, admit to spying on Selina, seeing them kiss, and then demand an explanation. Honestly, Gordon didn't want to do either. What he wanted was for the whole thing to just go away, as if it never happened. He placed one foot on the first step leading up to the apartment building, sighing. Wishing was going to get him no where, and possibly lead him to denial all together. No, he would sleep on it and then in the morning send Bruce a message for a meet up, somewhere and get the situation out into the open.

 

He took the steps slowly, watching his feet touch every step, trying to let the reality of the last thirty minutes sink in. But it was still too fresh, too surreal, almost a dream.  _ Had _ it just been a dream? He couldn't remember the event vividly; his mind was fogged, maybe it was... No, no. That was  _ real, _ the pain he felt down to his core was more real than any other feeling he could possibly have felt right then. He trusted Bruce, trusted him with everything,in a way he thought he would never trust anyone again. He had been so sure about Bruce, so sure he wouldn't reach in, take his heart and stomp on it. He had been positive about it.

 

Well, he'd been wrong before.

 

He reached the door, pulling it open, slipping through into the hall. He should check his mail, but even one more thing to carry would make it hard to drag himself up stairs. As it was he felt like cement had been poured into his shoes. He steered clear of the mailboxes, making his way to the stairs to the second floor. The climb was slow, awkward feeling, lonely. He reached his apartment, grabbing the doorknob, ready to unlock it, but the door was slightly ajar. He furrowed his eyebrows, pushing the door open just a little more, reaching under his left arm to his shoulder holster, pulling his gun. He kicked the door further in and carefully slipped into the room, gun pointed in front of him.

 

The light in the kitchen was on, but from what he could tell nothing was moved, missing or stolen; everything was where he had left it. His first thought was that maybe he had left it on this morning, but it wouldn't explain why the door to his apartment was slightly opened. He walked down the hall, checking the bedroom, the bathroom, the closets; nothing. He walked back down the hall, and strolled past the living room, a shadow stirred by his arm chair in the corner. He initially thought it was Batman, but something in the back of his mind told him not to be so sure. He turned swiftly on his heels, only to find his gun pointed directly at the Catwoman, her eyes a blaze of green fury. He expected her to lash out, throw a punch, or something, but she just stood there in front of him, as if daring him to shoot her.

 

“Curious, do you plan to use that on me, or is it just for show?” she asked, stepping forward, the barrel now pressed firmly to the middle of her chest. Gordon eyed her carefully, pulling back the hammer, finger ready on the trigger. She smiled slyly, calling his bluff. Gordon wanted to say something about curiosity killing the cat, but from him the remark would seem ridiculous in any situation.

 

“Where's Holiday?” he asked instead, forcing the barrel further into her skin, hoping she would flinch, react, but she did neither of those things. Instead, she placed a hand on Gordon's arm, tracing circles into his skin lightly with her claws, not digging in, yet.

 

“That's what you want to know? Not, 'how did you get in here' or 'why are you here'?” She laughed, and Gordon almost thought he recognized the voice, but the click wasn't there. “Holiday only contacts me when he needs things. I don't keep track of him.”

 

Gordon kept his stance steady, his arm stiff, unfaltering. “What are you doing here? What do you want?” He'd play into her little game, maybe he could get some answers from her, even a clue or a lead would do.

 

“I'm here to make sure you don't get in the way,” she replied, digging her claws into his arm then. He wanted to cry out, but held back. He wasn't a killer, but he sure as hell didn't mind slugging a woman if she deserved it. He knocked her hand away from his arm with his elbow, throwing her off guard, taking that split second to throw a punch with his free hand across her face, watching her stagger, and right before she could regain her stance, he brought the hilt of his gun down on the back of her skull, knocking her unconscious. He watched her crumple to the floor in a heap. Obviously, she had miscalculated him this time.

 

He was tempted to removed her mask, to find out if his speculations were true, but doing it down at MCU would be better, where there would be a lot more people around, to know he wasn't just trying to frame her. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, dialing Stephens' number, hoping the other man was still at work. He'd hate having to ask dispatch to send a car down.

 

“Stephens,” said the man on the other line, sounding a little tired, but at least awake.

 

“Are you still at the unit?” Gordon asked quickly, phoned cradled int the crook of his neck as he removed his handcuffs from his pocket and clicked them in place around the Catwoman's wrists.

 

“Yeah. Just about to head out. What's going on?” Stephens sounded a little rushed. Gordon could hear the man shuffling through papers, probably trying to finish the last of them before sending them off to Gordon in the morning.

 

“I need you to grab a squad car and come to my apartment. I have a bit of a situation that needs transporting.”

 

\--------

 

“You're not going to call him?” Stephens asked, as they both watched Catwoman through the glass wall of the interrogation room. She was cuffed, hands behind her back, seated in one of the hard metal chairs, still passed out. Gordon wanted to wait until she was awake to unmask her, to see the look on her face when he finally did what he had wanted to do since Valentine's Day. Not that he was one for revenge, but he _was_ one for justice.

 

“No,” he said to the other man. He didn't see a reason to call Batman back from his patrols; he didn't see a use in calling Bruce in for something that was under Gordon's complete control. He didn't need Bruce there every step of the way. He'd been doing this far longer than Bruce had, since before the billionaire had even thought about fighting crime.

 

“Okay then,” Stephens replied, a knowing yet curious look on his face. Gordon figured the man had already deduced that he and Bruce were 'dating', and had probably already guessed they were having a little trouble in their relationship lately; Gordon wasn't the only one noticing the difference in the playboy's attitude.

 

Catwoman stirred, raising her head, pulling on her arms, and squinting at the light shining above her head. She groaned as she looked. At first she seemed confused, a little lost; but then a snarl spread slowly across her lips, as she pulled desperately on the cuffs, growling. She brought her eyes up to the one way mirror, knowing full well that Gordon was behind it, her gaze narrowing angrily. Stephens turned to him, one hand on his shoulder.

 

“You want the honors? Or shall I?” he asked. Suddenly, Gordon didn't really want to face the woman behind the mask, afraid it was exactly the person he assumed it was; but on the other hand he wanted to see the look on her face when he slipped the mask off her, knowing that he had defeated her, that he hadn't let her get to him. He folded his arms over his chest, considering it. No, he didn't want to be near her; seeing her face from here would be enough. He couldn't be sure how he'd react off hand.

 

“You do it. Then book her.” Stephens squeezed Gordon's shoulder, a gesture perhaps of comfort – support. Stephens walked out the door, sliding into the interrogation room seconds later. She glared at him as he walked over to her, standing over her, hands folded in front of him, staring down at her. Gordon watched the man sigh heavily.

 

“You already know what I'm going to do,” Stephens said to the woman. Gordon watched her body relax, knowing full well that she had been outsmarted this time; there was no way out of the situation now. Stephens walked around her, obviously searching for the seam on the mask – there had to be a spot where it connected to the rest of the suit. Gordon had seen a zipper at the back earlier; he watched Stephens find it, unzipping it half way up her head, a long black braid falling out. Stephens reached up and pulled the mask back the rest of the way, revealing the high cheek bones, and heart-shaped face of Selina Kyle. Gordon was not surprised, and Stephens apparently wasn't either. He kept his calm, nodding his head in a way that suggested he had already known, or at least suspected.

 

“Congratulations, Lieutenant. You caught me,” she said, voice sensuous and low. Her eyes were boring into him, cold and even. Gordon shook his head; he had always known something was wrong about her, something just off. She made an impression that was too good to be true, and he had tried to warn people, tried to convince the mayor on numerous occasions to double check her, but no one listened. And Bruce, did he know? Had he figured it out? Just the thought of it made his skin crawl more. Bruce kissing the enemy, someone who had helped in the attempt to kill him less than a month ago. The thought made Gordon even angrier – not with Selina, but with Bruce. He was angry with Selina for the deception, he was angry with Bruce for straight up cheating and throwing Gordon's trust right out the window. Everything they had worked so hard to build was crumbling around him, and he felt almost hopeless.

 

Stephens motioned for a couple of the officers outside the door, walking behind Selina and removing the cuffs while the two officers held her arms so she couldn't move. They pulled her to her feet, putting the cuffs back on, walking her from the interrogation room. They'd book her, hold her here over night, and then in the morning he would get the answers he wanted from her. Gordon went to leave the room and found Batman standing in front of him, eyes narrowed.

 

“You didn't call me,” he growled, eying Gordon suspiciously. Gordon pushed past him, opening the door leading into the hall back down to the main part of MCU. Batman followed after him, keeping up.

 

“You don't need to be notified every time we catch a criminal,” Gordon said, not looking towards the man. He didn't want to meet the eyes that were burning into his head. “It was pretty quick, unexpected.”

 

“How?” Batman asked. Gordon hated it when he used one word questions and answers.

 

“She broke into my apartment. She was waiting for me,” Gordon explained, turning the corner to the stairs and taking them two at time, aware people were looking at them; it wasn't everyday that Batman was seen trailing Gordon; it was often the other way around, if Batman was to be seen at all.

 

“She isn't a criminal,” Batman said as they reached the second floor, walking towards Gordon's office now. Gordon stopped in his tracks, turning around swiftly, Batman stopping just short of bumping into him. Gordon narrowed his eyes curiously on the vigilante.

 

“Are you delusional?” Gordon asked, getting up close enough to Batman to see directly into his eyes. Bruce's eyes were staring back, but the way he was looking at him was unlike any emotion Gordon had ever seen from him; his eyes seemed almost lost, yet very aware. “She helped in that attempt to kill me almost a month ago! She broke into my apartment to do who-knows-what. And you want to argue with me that she's not a criminal?”

 

“She doesn't know what she's doing, she's being controlled by --” Batman started, but Gordon held up a hand to silence him, shaking his head.

 

“Stop. Just stop. I don't want to hear the lies that she has been feeding you. She's deceptive, and knows how to be convincing. It's obviously worked on you.” Gordon sighed. “I'm not stupid, Bruce. I know about you two. I saw you on the roof earlier. She's really worked you over good, hasn't she?”

 

Bruce's eyes softened with a bit of a realization, but of what Gordon couldn't be sure. “You were spying on me?” His tone was accusing, and Gordon felt his hand ball into a fist, the sudden urge to just throw one across Bruce's jaw overwhelming. He breathed deeply, holding it back.

 

“Let's not go there. The fact is, I trusted you,” Gordon said, dropping his hands to his side and shaking his head sadly, still looking into Bruce's eyes, which started to harden in anger.

 

“You've been the one slipping away from me, Gordon. You've been avoiding me for weeks now. Not even giving me the time of day. How did you want me to react to that? Just sit there and be ignored by you?” Bruce asked. Gordon just stared at him, wondering what the hell was wrong with Bruce. He was talking nonsense; everything he had just described was exactly how Gordon himself felt about Bruce. He wasn't nearly as angry with him as he was confused, and most of all worried.

 

“Bruce... what are you talking about?” Gordon asked, reaching out to touch the part of the man's face that wasn't covered by the cowl. Bruce turned his face away to avoid the contact, stepping back.

 

“I think you're the one that's deceptive, Commissioner. You're making a huge mistake with Selina Kyle. You don't know her.” Bruce turned towards a window, opening it. “Don't call unless it's important.”

 

Gordon wanted to go after him, but something in the back of his head told him to stay put, not to break what's already broken any further. There was something off with Bruce, something very wrong, and yet he was so very fragile. Not only did Gordon have an interrogation to do in the morning, he'd have to schedule a meeting with the mayor, to figure out what needed to be done.

 


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Saturday, March 14 – Three Days before St. Patrick's Day**

 

 

 

Four days had passed, though it felt like months, maybe even years to Gordon. He wanted so much to be angry with Bruce, to call and tell him off, to get the feelings of irrationality off his chest and out into the open. Except being angry just didn't feel right, not when Bruce was obviously not mentally well, or even stable for that matter. He had seen it coming for months, but it was just recently that Bruce had broken, showing that he really didn't have a lot of control over his own emotions, lost as he was in his own delusional dreams. Gordon wasn't sure exactly what was going on in the playboy's head, but it had been explained to him vaguely, and he thought he got the general idea.

 

Wednesday morning Gordon had the chance to sit down in the interrogation room Selina Kyle, her lawyer, and Gotham's newest DA. She ended up being more cooperative than he had thought she would be. Her lawyer had tried to keep her quiet, but Selina, being a police officer, knew that if she gave Gordon the answers he wanted, she might get a lighter sentence later on from the judge. It would definitely help her case, but it wouldn't keep her out of prison all together. At least she wouldn't be going to Arkham – she wasn't _that_ kind of criminal.

 

Selina wouldn't give out the true identity of Holiday, which was fine; they'd catch him for sure come Saint Patrick's Day anyway. She did tell them about Doctor Thomas Elliot, who still had his hands deep inside Arkham, pulling the strings of one particular doctor there, bribing him with money and scaring him with threats. Gordon didn't really need to ask which doctor – he already knew it – but hearing it from Selina's mouth made it all the more real: Doctor Mentz, Bruce's psychiatrist. It explained everything perfectly, right down to the drugs being given to the billionaire and the change in attitude they were causing. Gordon asked if she knew anything else about Elliot's plans, the answer being an obvious no, but she did mention he had come to her asking for Holiday's help with the “getting rid” of Gordon. It seemed that Gordon was on Holiday's list anyway, and he was all too happy to oblige, no questions asked.

 

Gordon had wanted to ask Selina about her budding relationship with Batman, but given the situation and the circumstances, he didn't find it appropriate, no matter how tempting. He let Stephen's finish processing her paperwork, while Gordon left to have his meeting with the mayor concerning the situation at hand – most of all that of Bruce who was going to become a liability if they didn't do something about his sessions at Arkham, and the drugs he was being administered. It would be easier to convince the mayor now that a new judge had been appointed to Bruce's case. Gordon had called ahead of time to be sure the judge could be there at the same time he was so the conversation didn't have to be repeated.

 

After two hours of arguing, Gordon was able to get communicate to the mayor and the judge exactly the kind of trouble Bruce was in, not to mention the chaos that would ensue in Gotham if Bruce continued the drugs he was on. The judge tried to argue that Bruce was diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder and needed the medication, but Gordon threw it back at him, explaining exactly what Selina had told him earlier. The mayor called for a warrant for Arkham, to bring in Doctor Mentz and all his case files, including Bruce's, and samples of anything they were giving him.

 

Gordon lead the crew down there, seizing control of everything the doctor had worked on in the last year, as well as taking in the doctor himself. Doctor Mentz – a slightly bigger man than Gordon – sat at the interrogation room table, hands cuffed and laying limp in his lap. Gordon stood at the other side of the table and waited for the confession that was clearly written on the doctor's face. They had given Mentz time with his lawyer to discuss the situation. The lawyer said they had a confession and was willing to work with the GCPD as much as possible. Another one of those lighter sentencing deals the Judge would agree to for the doctor's cooperation.

 

“Elliot,” the doctor mumbled. He was looking at the table, his eyes never meeting Gordon's as the commissioner glared harder at the top of the balding man's head. “Thomas Elliot got to me back in early November. He gave me fifty thousand dollars to diagnose and treat Bruce Wayne with Dissociative Identity Disorder.” Gordon knew the last part, Bruce had told him months ago about it, and even then Gordon thought the idea of it was laughable.

 

Gordon pinched the bridge of his nose just under his glasses. “Fifty thousand dollars hardly seems worth the jail time this is going to amount to, Doctor Mentz.”

 

“I needed the money. I had loan sharks at my back for months.” Mentz paused, looking up at Gordon with extremely scared eyes; there was some truth behind them. “I'm not proud of doing it. I wish I hadn't. I know Mister Wayne isn't crazy. He's doing a lot of good for this city –”

 

The commissioner placed a hand down on the table in front of the doctor. “That information doesn't leave this room!” The last thing Gordon needed was some half-twit doctor letting vital information leak out. The other man seemed to get the idea, but Gordon was sure the doctor never intended to tell anyone who didn't already know. _On to something else, Jim_. “You mentioned that you treated Mister Wayne, what drugs did you?”

 

Mentz fidgeted. “I, uh, I don't know.”

 

“You don't know?” Gordon leaned over the table, a scowl clearly present under his mustache. He could feel the heat rising up the back of his neck, a rising anger from days before with Selina. How could Mentz not know what he was giving a patient?

 

“Elliot just gave it to me. It wasn't labeled or anything. He just told me the side effects so I would know if it was working on Mister Wayne or not.” Mentz's voice began to crack and Gordon could sweat begin to drip down the man's large face. Gordon was not pleased and he was starting to see where this was going and everything about Bruce's behavior was going to sudden fit together.

 

“And just what _are_ the side effects?” Gordon gritted his teeth and tried his hardest to keep his tone as calm as possible. He was thinking about the past five months, Bruce's sudden behavior and mood-swings. Gordon wished he'd been able to convince the mayor months ago to stop the treatments.

 

“Well, the basics were that it would make the patient, Mister Wayne, feel as though the rest of the world was against him. Situation would become different, but to him they would be the same, as if nothing has changed. Actions he normally wouldn't consider would suddenly seem worth the effort, even if that actions was against his better judgment. Long term the drug could destroy his mind. But Mister Wayne hasn't been exposed to it nearly long enough to have that side effect.”

 

“So, it's a mind control drug?” Pieces fitting together, everything making sense. Gordon was not at all happy, he honestly couldn't see how Bruce could have been so stupid not to see this. Maybe he couldn't? Yes.

 

“I told you, Commissioner, I don't know. I can only assume.”

 

“What will happen if Mister Wayne suddenly stops taking this drug?” Gordon sat down in the chair across from Mentz. He was done being angry, done trying to get information that was obviously not there. Now he was concerned for Bruce.

 

“He'll start to withdrawal. His body has become dependent on it and it's only going to get worse before it gets better. Mister Wayne is going to need professional help if he wants to get through it without complications.” Of course, without complications. And just how did Gordon plan to explain this to Bruce?

 

 

\-------

 

All Gordon could think about was how very lost Bruce must have felt, and that there was nothing he could do about it but wait. There were many questions forming in his mind. How long would it take Bruce to clear his head? How long until he was back to being himself? Would he be able to wait? The last question wasn't hard to answer; of course he would wait, what else did he have going on? And Bruce was definitely worth waiting for. The hardest part would be sticking by him through the lows as the drug wore off. Gordon hoped Alfred was willing to help him. After all, he was sure the butler had been through similar situation with Bruce when he was teen (just maybe not as bad).

 

It had been four days since he'd even heard from Bruce. Alfred had called Gordon the day before, Friday, to tell him that Bruce was going off about how his sessions at Arkham had been canceled, and how he needed to get his medication. Alfred mentioned that Bruce was a bit moodier than usual, angrier too, and that he was taking it out on people and objects around him. Gordon was not looking forward to the meeting tonight, possibly the last one before Tuesday, Saint Patrick's Day. He had a feeling Bruce was going to be very angry with him, especially if he found out Gordon was the one who had put an end to the sessions and the drug. Gordon began to wonder if it was really worth waiting for Bruce to come around, knowing all the pain, abuse and turmoil he'd be putting himself through just to see Bruce back to normal again.

 

Yes. The answer was simply yes. Somehow, even through the pain and confusion of everything around them, Gordon knew he couldn't live without Bruce, even after the situation with Selina. It would be difficult to get through to Bruce now, but later on, maybe months from now, things might be better. Maybe. He hoped, anyway.

 

Gordon sighed, throwing the butt of his cigarette on the ground, staring at Stephens, who was taking another long drag of his, and giving him a nod. They had been out on the roof for almost an hour waiting for Batman to show, and it was beginning to be obvious to Gordon that he wasn't going to come at all. On most occasions, he'd be surprised, but given the past week, he wasn't at all.

 

“Wanna turn on the signal, see if he comes?” Stephens asked, blowing out a steam of smoke, dropping his finished cigarette and smashing the end with his shoe. Gordon shook his head; what would be the point? He wasn't going to come. He could phone Bruce, but at the risk of being called a bunch of colorful words, he thought better of it.

 

“No. I'll catch up with him later on,” he said, shaking his head. He placed his hands in his pockets, running his fingers over the homing device Bruce had give him over a month ago; he was tempted to push the button. But he wasn't sure he was willing to risk having Bruce be mad at him when nothing was wrong.

 

“Can we even trust that he's right about the mayor being targeted next?” Suspicion was evident in Stephens' voice, and Gordon couldn't blame him; he was a little skeptical of it himself. But what other leads did they have? Selina wasn't talking, Doctor Mentz didn't know anything, and Holiday sure wasn't leaving any real clues to lead to the next murder.

 

“What other choices do we have? I haven't found any evidence to lead us in another direction. I don't think he would steer us wrong. His judgment might be a little clouded, but I doubt he'd lead us astray. His love for Gotham is still the same.” Or so Gordon hoped. He'd hate to be wrong, but he had faith that deep inside Bruce's foggy mind he still had a sense of what needed to be done. It was all a guessing game now, hopefully one Gordon was winning.

 

Stephens gave a hopeful nod. “Let's hope so. We really don't need it to be one of us again. Which is likely, Jim. Holiday didn't exactly get what he wanted out of you.”

 

Gordon glared at the other man; he was very aware of this, and had very much been hoping he'd just be forgotten about. “I know that. Right now, I can't think like that, though. What if its not one of us and it is the mayor? His safety is a lot more important. It is what we're here for.”

 

Stephens only shrugged. Gordon could tell he was worried, maybe not just for Gordon but for himself as well; he had been on the list of possibilities for Valentine's Day, after all. Gordon shook his head. He knew Stephens wasn't going to be targeted, he'd done nothing to attract Holiday's attention. If anything it would be Gordon again, but it was far from likely, as he had the feeling that Holiday moved on quickly. However, with Elliot still on the loose, he had to worry about him interfering, which could lead to something happening to himself. But Elliot tended to keep a low profile; maybe they wouldn't hear from him for a bit. Hopefully.

 

“Let's just keep a close watch on the mayor on Tuesday. Keep the security force near, SWAT even closer and hope for the best.” Gordon sighed, walking towards the door leading down to the lower level. Stephens walked beside him, opening the door for him, letting him pass first.

 

“Hope to God your boy decides to show,” the other man muttered, following Gordon down the stairs and letting the door swing shut behind him.

 

“We've been doing this since long before he came along. We don't need him.” Gordon might have been a little bitter. He knew that Batman would likely not show up, but if he had it would have been a welcome surprise. They stopped at the second floor,Stephen's turned to him before heading down to the main floor, fixing Gordon with an observant gaze and clasping a hand on his shoulder.

 

“We might not. But _you_ do.” Stephens walked down the stairs, not saying another word. Gordon could have said a lot of things to him, but kept them to himself, waiting until the other man was out of sight completely before walking down to his office.

 

He opened the door, and a cool breeze hit him in face; the window on the opposite side of the room was opened. Obviously Batman wasn't into covering his tracks. The room was dark aside from the street lamp outside, which cast a dim glow in the room, creating more shadows. Gordon knew he could just turn a light on, but didn't find he needed them to know that Batman was hiding there, somewhere in the shadows.

 

“We waited over an hour for you. A phone call or something would have been nice if you couldn't make it.” He didn't let his voice show emotion one way or another; he didn't want to come off sounding accusing or angry, since he was neither of those things, even though he knew he should be. He waited for movement in the corner, Batman stepped forward, to turn the light on.

 

“What I have to say doesn't involve, Stephens,” Batman growled, moving forward a few steps, his stance strong, squared – an obvious attempt to get Gordon to stand down, to intimidate him. “You're poking around in business you don't belong in, Gordon. My business. My life. You took away the one thing that I thought was finally helping me.”

 

Gordon put his hands up in defense. “Whoa, whoa. Bruce, stop. Those sessions have not been helping you. The medication is polluting your mind. I'm only trying to help you.”

 

“Help me? You think you know what's best for me, Gordon? I feel like I'm losing control without the medication. I need it. And you _are_ going to fix it.” Batman grabbed Gordon by the shoulder tightly, glaring into his eyes, a fire so angry Gordon wanted to look away, not see the hate that was residing there. He never thought he'd have to see that in Bruce's eyes. He knocked Batman's hands away, giving him a push to keep him at bay.

 

“There is nothing to fix. You've become dependent on something you don't even need. I can help you get through the withdrawal though, Bruce. Everyone wants to help you. It won't be easy –” Gordon kept his voice low and even; he wanted Bruce to know that he wasn't attacking him. But the other man didn't seem to see it that way; his eyes kept showing more and more hate at each word that Gordon said. Gordon knew it had to get worse before it got better; he hoped this was the worse.

 

“No. I don't need your help. There is nothing to help! I'm fine!” Batman stepped back, eyeing Gordon and shaking his head, the best he could in the cowl. “You're ruining everything, Gordon. Stay out of my life.”

 

Gordon watched as the man slipped out the window again, wanting, once more, to go after him. He hoped to God Bruce started showing some improvement, otherwise he knew that in order to keep the city from the hands of someone so out of control they would have to lock Bruce in Arkham for a bit, keep him under control. Well, maybe Arkham was a bad idea with Elliot still on the lose, but there were other hospitals, places Bruce could go without the tabloids finding out. Gordon sighed, bringing his fists to his eyes and rubbing them roughly, sleep and sadness pulling at them; he had a feeling he was not going to see Bruce for quite a while.  


	18. Chapter Eighteen

 

 

**Tuesday, March 17, Saint Patrick's Day –**

 

 

 

Gordon wasn't sure if he was pleasantly surprised or completely devastated. The killer known as Holiday had just been delivered to the MCU – tied up, gagged, beaten until he was practically unidentifiable, and in need of emergency medical attention. Though Gordon was thrilled to finally have the killer in custody, he was far from happy with the route Batman had taken to get the man. It had been a little over a week since Bruce had been given the last drug injection, and Gordon was damn sure the billionaire was going through some painful withdrawals by now, most likely causing his lashing out, his anger, and the need for brute physical contact. If what Holiday looked like was any indication of what Bruce was going through mentally and physically, Gordon was only too happy to not be in his line of sight. Even if he missed him more than he cared to openly admit.

 

Holiday, once rushed to hospital under the supervision of Gordon himself, was treated, cleaned up and then identified as Alberto Falcone. It really wasn't as surprising as Gordon thought it should have been. The killing of the assistant DA, the DA, the judge, Gordon himself almost falling victim... it all made sense. If only he had really listened to Bruce back in February when he mentioned the connection between Carmine Falcone and the murders. How Bruce actually figured it out, Gordon wasn't sure he wanted to know. What mattered was that the murderer Holiday was caught, and once he healed, he'd be thrown into Arkham with his father. Another madman caught, another case solved. Yet, there was one left, still wandering the streets: Doctor Thomas Elliot.

 

Gordon had set up a new security detail Monday morning at Arkham, hiring his own people rather than allowing the facility to chose their own and risk having the safety of Gotham City jeopardized, again – not to mention someone else's mental stability. Doctor Elliot was out there somewhere, and if Gordon had his way, he was going to catch the doctor once and for all, one way or another. Elliot had crossed the line one too many times. Now he was playing on Gordon's turf, and Gordon wasn't about to back down or play nice – not this time. With his best people wandering in and out of Arkham, checking in on the new security guards and features, he was sure that something suspicious would show up in the paperwork at some point, hopefully leading him directly to Elliot. The man had to falter at some point, and Gordon hoped he was the one to see him brought to his knees, especially after everything he'd put Bruce through in the last six months.

 

He had heard nothing from Bruce since Saturday evening. A part of him hoped the younger man would recognized his problems, along with the overall seriousness of his condition, and ask for help. Gordon knew, though, that this was unlikely, and that he shouldn't really expect to hear from Bruce for at least a month, if not longer. Alfred, who had called him Monday, said Bruce was slowly tumbling further down a deep hole: not sleeping, not eating, and obsessing over “cleaning up” Gotham. The older gentlemen also said that Bruce refused to talk about Gordon, and that whenever he came up Bruce shied away from the conversation by changing the topic or leaving the room all together. Alfred tried to reassure Gordon that when Bruce finally started to come down off his cloud of anger and frustration he would surely find the time and desire to talk to him again. Gordon hoped Alfred was right, things just weren't the same without Bruce, or Batman for that matter, next to him solving cases – it felt wrong.

 

The next couple of months were going to be long, boring, and extremely tedious. At least he had this children coming for the weekends now, despite Barbara's complaints that his apartment was too small. It was a good thing that he was moving into a bigger one soon, as he couldn't count on Bruce to accommodate to them at the manor any time soon. Until then, he had set up his bedroom for the kids to share while they visited, taking the couch for himself. None of the inconveniences mattered, as long as he was able to see his kids and keep his mind off everything else at least for a day or two.

 

 

**Monday March 23 –**

 

A little less than a week later, Alfred showed up at Gordon's apartment early in the morning, a small suitcase in hand, looking awkward in his neatly pressed butler's uniform, giving Gordon a look of disappointment and exasperation. Gordon, who was still getting ready for work, opened the door wider for the other man, gesturing for him to enter. His place was far from clean, with dishes piled in the sink, old take-out containers from at least three days prior sitting on the table around a pile of bills he was sure were getting to be overdue. He suddenly felt very self-conscious about having Alfred, with his all too pristine appearance, in his apartment.

 

“Do I dare ask?” Gordon's tone was flat. He already knew the answer, or could at least could guess well enough. He pulled his tie around his neck, fumbling with it nervously. Alfred watched him for a few seconds before setting down his suitcase, and batted Gordon's hands away to fix the tie.

 

“I quit.” Alfred said plainly, smoothing the tie down Gordon's chest, looking at him with a satisfied look on his face. Gordon looked down at the tie; he'd never been able to get it that straight. He looked back up at the older man, curiously.

 

“That bad?”

 

“Worse, sir. He refuses any help. I told him, 'you better go get some real help or I'm leaving'. I don't think you need me to tell you which he chose.” Alfred motioned to the suitcase at his feet. “I'm off to find a hotel until I can find more a permanent arrangement of my own. I thought I should come by and let you know the circumstances.” Alfred reached for his suitcase, turning on his heels to head back out the door, but Gordon caught him by the arm.

 

“If you need some where to stay, I'd be more than willing to have a house guest,” he found himself saying, part of him screaming to stop talking and the other part whispering that it was the decent thing to do, despite the fact that Alfred had far more money than Gordon could probably even imagine. “I don't have a lot of room right now, but I am moving into a larger apartment this weekend. Until then you're welcome to my room, and I'll take the couch.”

 

Alfred gave a him a small smile, one that Gordon had seen him give Bruce on many occasions when the billionaire did things that were surprising but admirable. “Well, I do say you could use a little help with cleaning and packing. I'll take the couch, sir. No need to put your self out for me.” He took a look around the room, placing his suitcase up against the wall by the front door. “You'll be late for work.”

 

Gordon gave a confused stare as Alfred helped him into his suit jacket and handed him his keys from the table. Gordon turned to face him, a question poised on his lips. “What about Bruce?”

 

“What about Master Wayne?” Alfred looked as if he didn't want to talk about it; it was obvious that the situation was hurting the butler, who had once been father figure to a younger Bruce Wayne. Gordon bit down on the inside of his bottom lip, trying to think of the right thing to say, wondering if he should just ask his question outright.

 

“I don't trust him by himself in his condition,” Gordon mumbled, unsure if the words were right, but the look on Alfred's face suggested that he understood completely. Alfred placed a hand on Gordon's shoulder, opening the front door for him and seeing him out.

 

“I have my ways of keeping an eye on him, Master Gordon. Don't you worry about that.” And with that Alfred gave him a little push out the door, leaving Gordon feeling a little dumbfounded and lost, standing in the hallway, staring at the door that closed promptly in front of him. Did Alfred Pennyworth just come to live with him? He knew for a fact that when he returned home that night his whole apartment was going to be spotless and he wouldn't know where anything was. This was either the smartest idea he'd ever had, or the stupidest.

 

 

 

**Friday, May 1 –**

 

 

 

Gordon kept mostly to himself. Alfred had helped him move over a month ago – they set up the spare room for the kids, and set the other spare for Alfred for the time being. Gordon didn't mind having Alfred around; he kept everything clean and orderly, and stayed out of the way when Gordon was home, which was never that often unless it was the weekend and his children were staying over. Alfred found Jimmy and Susan to be delightful, and kids often had fun playing Shoots and Ladders with him. Gordon caught Alfred losing on purpose on more than one occasion. He could have been happy living his life the way it was, but a part of him ached every time he thought about Bruce.

 

Alfred tried to comfort him when the subject came up, telling him that Bruce was working through it, that he'd be fine, and that Gordon should try not to worry so much. Gordon wasn't sure how Alfred knew what Bruce was doing, as he refused to let him know about his sneaky ways of keeping tabs on the playboy; all Gordon could do was trust Alfred. And yet he was still so lost, wandering aimlessly some nights down the streets after dark, hoping that the shadow in an ally way would be Batman, and he'd come out and tell Gordon how much he'd missed him, needed him. Gordon hoped it was true, that somewhere in the back of Bruce's mind he still needed Gordon the same way Gordon needed Bruce.

 

It was Friday, the day of Selina Kyle's trial. She was sentenced to one year in prison, as she admitted only to the burglaries and was let off easy because of her cooperation with the GCPD. He had watched the whole thing, glaring at her from his seat towards the back, listening to her confess. He wanted to smile when she was walked past him out in cuffs, but his eyes were drawn away from her to a man standing at the opposite side of the room. For a moment, Gordon didn't recognize him – and why would he have? Bruce's once handsome face was now covered in a thick beard, the hollow of his eyes darker than usual from an obvious lack of sleep, his hair was longer than usual, ragged and unkempt, and he wore a tight t-shirt and dingy jeans; at least he'd kept himself in shape, probably the only thing that kept him sane when his body had started to detox.

 

Rumor had it that Bruce had gone to Metropolis to oversee the take-over of a newspaper there – just another money making opportunity. Now, Gordon knew this story had been presented to the press by Alfred; aspects of it were true, but it was Lucius Fox who was doing the negotiating. Not that Gordon believed the rumors, anyway. Especially when he was staring right at Bruce, who obviously hadn't seen him yet. Or possibly he  _ had _ seen Gordon and was just ignoring the fact that he was there. Gordon planned his next move carefully, aware that Bruce would not cause a scene in public, not when his cover could be blown.

 

Gordon stood up from his seat, walking casually across the room, one hand in his pocket. He stopped just short of three feet away from Bruce, who had turned his head to look at Gordon, a fiery gaze in his eyes, but his expression calm. The world seemed to slow down around them; people blurred in his vision and all he could really see was Bruce, right there in front of him, far from presentable given the usual standards of a playboy billionaire, but just a handsome as any other day, at least to Gordon. Gordon's first instinct was to touch him, to brush his fingers against the other man's arm, maybe just a handshake – something. He felt the need as a physical ache, his heart racing, telling him to do it... But his mind had the controls and was holding him back.

 

“You look like hell.” Gordon's tone was offhand, but he didn't want to seem to sarcastic either; it was the truth after all. Bruce's eyes stayed on his, even when Gordon looked away for a moment, pretending his attention was caught elsewhere. The billionaire seemed to be trying to put together some pieces in his mind; his lips parted half-way a few times, as if words wanted to pour out, but couldn't find their way. Gordon shook his head. Maybe it was too soon to approach him, too soon to expect him to understand that everything Gordon and Alfred had done was for his own wellbeing. Gordon turned to leave, but Bruce caught him by the arm, spinning him back around to face him.

 

“Meet with me. Tonight.” The words were raspy, not at all like any voice Gordon had ever heard from Bruce; it was weak, and small.

 

“Where?” A moment of excitement bled into his heart, but he pushed it back, not wanting to be disappointed later on.

 

“Anywhere.” The one word answers from Bruce in any other situation would have earned him an annoyed sigh and an eye roll, but this day was different. Gordon only nodded, trying to think of the best place, somewhere out of the way, but not too secluded. Some place he could get out of quickly, if an issue presented itself.

 

“How about the penthouse?” Gordon suggested. Bruce seemed to consider, and nodded. “I can be there at eight.”

 

Bruce blinked, still distant, still unlike himself in many ways, Gordon could tell, but at least he was making progress. At least he wasn't blaming Gordon, at least not yet. He smiled at Bruce, a wispy little grin, afraid to show too much emotion in the situation, afraid to have his heart broken again. Bruce returned the smile, almost as if mimicking Gordon, and walked out of the court house. Gordon felt his chest tighten and his stomach flop; he'd never felt as nervous as he did right then. He had the feeling that everything about the coming evening would make or break them.

 

 

\-------------

 

Eight o'clock couldn't _not_ have come any sooner. The day wore on forever; the constant badgering from the newest recruits, the school meetings about safety and “stranger danger”, and finally the last hours ticking away with nothing but paperwork to finish. Gordon beyond happy when the last hour faded away quickly. He actually finished all of his reports and signed off on every single paper that passed his desk. The day was looking up, which hopefully said something about the meeting he would be having with Bruce very soon.

 

He grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair, sliding it on as he headed out of his office, practically running down the stairs, through the hallways of the first floor, and out the front doors of MCU. Stepping into the slightly chilled night air, he felt his heart skip in an irregular beat of excitement. He tried to keep his calm, to hold his ground a little more firmly; it was very possible that the coming conversation with Bruce would not end the way he wanted it to, but he could hope for the best. He walked across the street to the parking garage, finding his car easily, being one of the few there this late at night. He slid into the driver's seat, and made his way to the penthouse.

 

The drive usually took twenty minutes, but Gordon found his foot keeping at a steady eight miles over the speed limit, bringing his total drive time down to about twelve minutes. He parked in the private garage, waving at the security man who had gotten used to Gordon coming around some months back. The man offered a wave in return, letting him through. Friday night and most tenants were out on the town, it seemed; he had a variety of spaces to chose from, not that it mattered too much. He parked closest to the elevator, just in case this meeting ended up being a bad idea. He hopped out of his car, locking the doors. The elevator was already open, waiting for him. He strolled in, pressing the number for Bruce's penthouse before entering the security code it required to go there directly.

 

The ride up seemed to last forever, the last few second fading by slowly, the numbers at the top of the doors lighting up, one-by-one. Gordon watched them, almost wishing they would stop all together, just to let him catch his breath before reaching the penthouse.

 

When the car stopped, the door slid open to a dimly lit room, black padded mats splayed out on the floor; all furniture that had once been there was gone, most likely moved. He was sure the mats were for training purposes, or even meditation – whatever it was that worked for Bruce. Gordon was sure it had gotten him through the majority of his detox.

 

He stepped out of the elevator, trying his best to avoid walking on the mats, looking around for some sign of Bruce. He hoped over a few more mats, looking down the hall towards the kitchen, the lights were off in there. Gordon felt a frown coming on, almost afraid he'd missed Bruce all together. They had agreed on a little past eight at the penthouse, right?

 

He turned away from the kitchen, to find himself suddenly faced with Bruce just a few feet in front of him. Gordon grabbed his chest, letting out a startled cry. He rolled his eyes in exasperation at Bruce. Had it really been so long since Bruce had tried to sneak up on him that he couldn't even sense it anymore? Bruce tipped his head to the side, curiously. He had cleaned himself up – shaved, had his hair cut, even styled it. He wore a newer, nicer pair of jeans and a tucked-in tight, white t-shirt that Gordon couldn't help but notice clung to every toned muscle on his torso. He looked Bruce over more than once, feeling an ache grow in his chest, a rising need to take the other man in his arms and hold him.

 

Bruce only continued to stare at him, a distant look in his eyes. Obviously he still wasn't quite right in his own mind. Gordon gave him a wispy smile, small and almost vulnerable. He started to feel this was a bad idea, that maybe Bruce wasn't quite ready to talk. He sucked in his bottom lip, biting down softly as he thought of what to say, wondering if he should just leave without another word. But Bruce had cleaned up, had obviously wanted to have this conversation with Gordon; he'd stay a little longer, see if he could get something out of the billionaire.

 

“You always did cleanup well,” Gordon offered a genuine smile, a soft smirk that was barely visible from under his mustache. Bruce blinked, looking lost for a moment, and then his eyes hardened and he looked away from Gordon. “Bruce...”

 

“I can't even begin to apologize, Jim. Everything started to slip away from me months ago. Seemed so hopeless.” Bruce was staring around the room, his eyes everywhere but on Gordon, avoiding his gaze. Gordon reached out his hand cautiously, touching his fingertips to Bruce's face, making the other man look at him. Bruce's eyes were darker, sadder, full of shame.

 

“Don't worry about it,” Gordon whispered, not wanting to risk a voice that might stir uneasy feelings for Bruce.

 

“No,” Bruce took Gordon's hand from his face and held it in both of his, staring down at the older man's hand for a moment before glancing back up to meet his eyes. “I have no excuse for my behavior with Selina. You deserve so much better than that.”

 

Gordon had let go of the Selina issue days after it had happened, aware that Bruce had been under some heavy influences, and trusting that the playboy had not gone any further with Selina than just the kiss. “I'm not concerned about that. Given the situation, your mental state, everything...”

 

“Jim. Please. You don't understand,” Bruce paused, squeezing Gordon's hand, eyes pleading with him now, and Gordon, who wanted to speak again, kept to himself, listening. “I wanted to kiss her. I wanted her. She wasn't what I really wanted, but at the time it felt as if it was the only thing I needed. She kept telling me that she was all I needed. I believed her, Jim. I believed her when she said that you didn't really care at all what happened, that you didn't even want me there.”

 

Gordon felt his heart start pumping harder, his breath quicken, and his hands begin tremble. Selina had taken full advantage of Bruce, had taken him apart at the seams, and knowing he was vulnerable, had turned him against Gordon. This made him more angry with her, desperately wishing that he had been able to prove her  guilty as an accessory to attempted murder. He loathed her even more now, for her mind games and her tricks. He closed his eyes, pulling himself back into the moment; the thought of Selina didn't need to be present in his mind. When he opened his eyes again Bruce was standing just a few inches closer to him, still grasping Gordon's hand tightly, as if he was afraid to let go.

 

“How clearly are you thinking now, Bruce? Do you know your own thoughts? Feelings?” Gordon took Bruce's other hand, sliding the fingers of both their hands together. He let his gaze deepen, searching Bruce's eyes for a flicker of recognition, knowing, needing – _something_. Bruce let a very small, definite smile spread across his face, his eyes softening, gleaming in the dim light above them.

 

“Somethings are still very foggy. But, clear enough for me to see you, to know the pain I caused you --” Gordon cut him off, shaking his head slightly.

 

“Stop. It's not about what you did right now. It's about how you feel, about us. About me.” Gordon looked Bruce over, taking in the sight of him just in case this did end up going the wrong way, and not at all as he had planned or expected. He held his breath for a second, his gaze set on Bruce's eyes, opening himself up completely, letting his own defenses down. “I need to know, Bruce. I don't want to be heartbroken, again. I've been through enough already. I need to know so that if I have to let you go, I can do it now.”

 

Bruce let out a breath that neither of them realized he had been holding. He leaned into Gordon, letting go of his hands and bringing his own up to the older man's face, and kissed him. Their lips felt strange together at first, after being apart for so long. The awkwardness faded quickly as Bruce parted his lips against Gordon's, who slid his tongue into Bruce's mouth, searching for that puzzle piece that would connect them. He knew that in finding it he could feel whole again. Gordon had his hands on Bruce's waist, letting his fingers graze each lean muscle. He'd missed this – missed Bruce. The younger man pulled away first and gazed into Gordon's eyes as if he were the last thing he'd see on earth before dying.

 

“James Gordon, you are my anchor. You believed in me even when I couldn't. If I let you go now I'd be ignoring the warning bells in the back of my mind that said I was doing the wrong thing.” Bruce paused to consider his next words carefully, and then he spoke a little more softly. “I may be a little imbalanced still... but I'm stable enough to know I don't want you going anywhere. Your place is here with me. And I wouldn't have it any other way.”

 


End file.
